


This is a Call

by agirlcalledbob



Series: Instant Destiny [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, College, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, First Dates, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlcalledbob/pseuds/agirlcalledbob
Summary: Find out how it all began
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Instant Destiny [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634938
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. I never meant to make a big scene

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: I am v. bad at titles, and have been listening to the Foos, which is where the story title and chapter title came from. The series is from Tame Impala. Expect more of that kind of thing. The actual songs don't link really, but I'd always recommend listening to music, just for the fun of it. 
> 
> Note 2: I wanted to do something about how Derek and Stiles met and how their friendship developed, but not as a single plot, so this 'story' will actually be a series of sort-of connected excerpts showing their relationship developing, and back-story fills of how their friendship came to be in the first place
> 
> Note 3: It will be updated to explicit, but it'll be a few chapters in. Probably. (Or next chapter, who knows?) That being said, if there's any aspect of relationship development you're interested in, let me know in the comments and I'll do my best to address it.

Stiles feels as though he’s had a blush on his face since Derek picked him up from his apartment, and it shows no sign of disappearing. The restaurant is fancier than anything he’s ever eaten in, and waiters floating around like they’re only barely able to force themselves to interact with the customers will never be something Stiles can get used to. 

Obviously, the initial blush was because Derek looked like a fucking secret agent when he knocked on Stiles’ door, and, man, can the guy rock a suit. But then it had got worse when Derek held the passenger door of the Camaro, then _and_ at the restaurant, and placed his hand protectively in the small of Stiles’ back as they followed the haughty hostess through the throng to their secluded table. The incomprehensible menu isn’t helping, or the whispers and averted stares from close-by tables who have, presumably, recognized them; or Derek, at least.

It’s been almost two weeks since London, though Stiles feels more like it was a lifetime ago. They’d had another five days of junkets and interviews after the Graham Norton one – no more TV for him though, thankfully, as there was no way he’d have made it to the four am call for a breakfast show, even with Lyd and Derek on his back. He and Derek had been normal. They always sleep in the same bed when they’re away, have done for two years now (it keeps the nightmares to a minimum, for both of them), and that hadn’t changed, though they hadn’t got any further than kissing; even if they were kisses so hot Stiles wondered how he hadn’t combusted from them. 

When they returned, Derek was reluctantly off with his uncle and sister on a long-arranged vacation, though they messaged continuously, which was normal too. It was when Derek had returned that it got weird, to Stiles anyway, as the messages dried up, and Derek never suggested they even meet up – which _wasn’t_ normal. When he’d rung Stiles earlier, he’d been stilted on the phone, and even now, with Derek being attentive and sweet in all the little ways, Stiles is half expecting this to be the ‘better as friends’ conversation. 

Derek orders a bottle of wine, when Stiles’ head looks like it’s about to implode at the mere thought of making a decision, and he tells the waiter to give them more time with the menu once he’s tested and approved it.  
“This was a terrible idea, wasn’t it?”  
“What?” Stiles blushes even further at his own very unmanly squeak. Of course Derek’s changing his mind. What had happened in London was never going to be real, not now they’re back to their normal lives, and Derek can take one look around, in this place he is utterly suave and comfortable, and see that he could do _so_ much better than goofy and uncoordinated Stiles.

“I wanted to impress you. Prove that I can offer you what you want. And this is a total failure.” Hang on, is Derek _doubting_ himself? Stiles knows Derek struggles with his self-worth in a lot of really unfair (and frankly untrue) ways, but he’s never even considered that Derek would have an issue on a date – not with the constant rotation of stunning women he’s had on his arm over the years.  
“What? But you’re hot.” Stiles wants to kick himself. Really fucking hard. Into last month, if possible, so this nightmare has never happened.  
“Uh, thanks? You are too. But you aren’t comfortable, are you?” Stiles ignores the lie, and focuses on the truth.  
“I’ve never been somewhere like this.”  
“Not even to celebrate, like with Scott or something?”  
“Nah. I know Scott comes to high class restaurants with whoever his current obsession is, but when it’s just the two of us we stick to diners or burger places.” Derek’s face screws up, and Stiles hangs his head at the further evidence that the man is just too classy for him.  
“That’s shitty of him. I know he loves places like this.” Huh, maybe the face wasn’t for that. Derek has commented before that Scott is a major flake when it comes to his friendship with Stiles, maybe he gets more pissed about it than Stiles realized. “Never felt like treating yourself though?”  
“Eh, maybe. But I don’t really fit somewhere like this.” 

Sure, Stiles has gone the extra mile tonight, in smooth slim-fit twill pants and a maroon checked button down in cotton so soft he kind of wants to stroke his own torso, but he still looks like a scruff compared to everyone else in here, _and_ he’d still be happier in a superhero t-shirt and jeans. “Besides, haven’t really got the money.”  
“I don’t believe that. Not with Lydia on your team.”  
“Oh, yeah, I get paid a lot. Crazy amount actually.” Even with that, Stiles knows that Derek probably makes triple what he does – he’s the big name. “But she pays herself a lot out of it too, and she makes me put a big amount in some inaccessible saving bond, and I wanted to get my dad somewhere nice, so I bought him a house, and then Lyd made me buy my apartment. And the car costs a lot. I could afford it, but I weigh up what’s important to me.”  
“Only you could earn probably half a million a year and spend most of it on a twenty-year-old jeep.” Stiles laughs – he’s not wrong – but when Derek reaches across the table to take his hand he pulls away, and Derek’s face falls. “I’m sorry. I am bad at this aren’t I?”  
“Fuck…no, Der, you’re not bad at this. But people are watching, and we agreed we’d keep it secret for a while.”  
“I’m just- I seem to be proving that I don’t know you enough. Bringing you somewhere like this. Trying to impress you – as if you were the kind of person that would be impressed by money.”  
“I’m not, and you _do_ know that, hence you working it out now. But you know me, Der. Christ, you know me better than anyone, and have done for a long time. Do you remember when you really didn’t?”  
“What, when you were a completely green little punk put in my way just to mess my day up?”

Stiles laughs hard, feeling the freedom now that they seem to be back on track. And he remembers that little punk, too.

* * * * *

“Come on!” Scott grumbles, dragging Stiles by the arm as he tries to send a text.  
“I’m coming, buddy. Gotta tell my dad. He’s already so proud of you, he’ll go wild when he knows I’m getting to go to a studio.”  
“He won’t when I get fired on my first day for being late.” Scott takes a huff on his inhaler and Stiles slips his phone into his back pocket, guilty that he’s stressing his best friend out. 

They aren’t actually late – Scott’s meant to be there at eleven, and it isn’t even ten thirty, but he’s been so excited, and so brain-burstingly nervous, Stiles knows his emotions are dialed up to eleven. 

They get past security with no problems, which Stiles secretly breathes a sigh of relief over. It’s not that he’d say Scott has been known to let him down…but, yeah, anyway. Scott had told Stiles that the producer actually suggested he bring a friend to the read-through, and Stiles guesses it’s because the guy had worked out how strung out Scott is about the whole thing. Must be a nice guy.

When they get to the set, Stiles doesn’t squeal in excitement, but it’s a close thing. Scott told him a lot of it will be filmed on location, but they have an indoor set for his office and his apartment. He’s going to be a kick-ass private detective in the show, all broody and stern, and Stiles is pretty proud of the way he _didn’t_ snort out a laugh when he heard that. He managed it because he’s even more proud of his best friend, who didn’t always have it easy growing up, and is really starting to come into himself now. 

Scott has always wanted to be an actor, a secret that only Stiles and Scott’s mom had ever known, but he was a bit of an outcast at school, which had made him too shy to push for his dream. His asthma had prevented him from taking part in sports, and Stiles had stuck to his side in solidarity (even if his own lanky lack of coordination hadn’t hurt his decision), and he’d skated the edges of school culture, never being brave enough to get involved, but well-liked just because he was a ridiculously nice guy. Things had changed at college though, where the two of them have always roomed together. They both discovered fitness that didn’t require either fully working lungs or great dexterity (though Stiles found a surprising affinity with baseball, and had the hardest hit on the team) and that, combined with the final, and best, stages of puberty, meant they’d come out the other side doing pretty well, physically. The new broad, muscular shoulders and attentions of cute co-eds had done wonders for Scott’s confidence, and he’d finally been courageous enough to try out for the dramatic society in Junior year. He was a natural, and that had led to him getting himself an agent and auditioning for anything going – a process Stiles was permanently by his side for.

Funnily enough, he hadn’t been able to make the audition for ‘Scott’s Landing’ – even he wasn’t going to miss a final exam for his best friend – and Scott had landed the role of a lifetime, after many, many rejections and a few small walk-ons over the preceding year. They’d celebrated in their usual way: beer and pizza, and Stiles hadn’t even been annoyed when Scott had gone off to have a personal celebration with his current girlfriend, really. He’d got over that complete lack-of-annoyance even more when Scott had told him he could come to the first reading with him, and meet the rest of the cast. 

So here he is, and here none of them are. The hanger-like space is empty of people, though there is a long buffet set up with a lot of very tempting food. Stiles stays strong though, for now, not wanting to get kicked out because he accidentally takes some actor’s vegan, organic tofu wrap, or something, not that that’s particularly likely. Instead, he wonders through the set, while Scott sits at the long table in the middle of the space, nervously tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. Stiles chuckles to himself at the way-too-fancy set up of Scott’s ‘apartment’ – as if some struggling private eye could afford this in LA – and lifts the old-school rotary phone in his ‘office’, disappointed when it isn’t connected.  
“Not much need for a working land-line on set,” a deep voice says, right behind him, making him squeak, and he spins around, almost tripping over his own feet, saved by a steadying hand on his elbow. The guy is handsome; really, really handsome and very much inside Stiles’ personal space – and Stiles forcibly holds down another squeak as he realizes. “This your friend, Scott?” But he doesn’t take his eyes off Stiles’.  
“Hi Peter, yes, this is Stiles.” Scott takes another hit off his inhaler, his eyes wide and worried.  
“Hello, Stiles. I’m Peter Hale, the producer.” He finally steps back, with a smug smile that tells Stiles he knows exactly the effect he just had on the young man. Stiles gulps. Awkward. Especially as even Scott doesn’t know he’s bi yet. Stiles takes a deep breath and lets his mouth take over.  
“Hello, Peter Hale, producer. I’m Stiles, best friend.” He holds his hand out, and Peter takes it in his own smooth, warm one, for just a moment too long. “I believe I have you to thank for me being allowed here today, so thank you. I’m really excited to find out how it works. Is there, like, a place where all the non-actors have to go? A line we have to stand behind?”  
“I don’t think so?” Stiles is secretly pleased he seems to have nonplussed the suave man. “You’re the only one, anyway. You don’t tweet, do you?”  
“No?” Oh, God. The only one? He figured there’d be a bunch of random people here. But he’s the only one. Shit.  
“Good. You’re aware that discussions about the show are strictly taboo? I should get you to sign a non-disclosure.” He turns away, finally, and Stiles breathes, shallowly, as the man types into his phone. 

He needs something to do, particularly when a very pretty brunette with pouting lips comes in, flicking her hair and scowling at Stiles, followed closely by a gorgeous blond guy. Somehow, despite all the TV he’s watched over the years, Stiles has managed to forget just how _good-looking_ most actors are; so out of the realm of the normal like him. He uses the machine to make himself a coffee, glancing over at Scott. Huh. Scott’s pretty handsome himself – something that Stiles has literally never given any real thought to, not that he is now – only in an abstract, scientific way. His bisexuality might just become a curse if he spends too much time around here. 

To his surprise, the brunette doesn’t go to the table, but veers off toward him.  
“You’re Stiles?” she sneers. Wow, happy days.  
“Hi?”  
“You need to sign this.” She thrusts a clipboard and pen at him and he takes it mainly because he can imagine her cracking him over the head with it if he doesn’t. They obviously got his name from Scott when he was added to the list for entry, and he wonders whether to mention that, but decides against it as the girl definitely looks ready to commit murder. Besides, his real signature includes the ‘Stiles’ so it works. It’s not like he’s going to put anything out there anyway. He can keep a secret. Mainly.

She storms out of the room, disappearing down the darkened corridor she’d appeared from.  
“Don’t mind Cora, Stiles. She enjoys feeling as though the job we pay her for is beneath her.” Stiles hears a faint profanity directed at Peter, but he just smirks again, and Stiles is wondering if he has any other facial expression.

He certainly doesn’t have time to ask, because it turns out everyone is insanely punctual, that, or they were just waiting in that same darkened corridor to make their big entrance. 

He tries to stay cool when Erica Reyes struts in, impossibly sexy in a low cut bustier and skin-tight jeans, her spiked heels clipping on the concrete floor. He recognizes her from several recurring roles in some of his favorite shows and bites his lip so he doesn’t say anything stupid. This is important to Scott. She flashes him a crimson grin, looking him up and down in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable, but in the best kind of way. She’s followed by a girl with a far more serious expression and stunning brunette waves to half-way down her back, and they sit close together, holding thick pages and muttering over their contents.

He knows Isaac Lahey too, because he played the ill-fated sidekick on a superhero show, who bounces in with a slightly vague expression, rather like an overgrown puppy. He goes straight to Scott, pulling him into a hug that leaves Scott bug-eyed. He doesn’t recognize either of the others though – a pretty Asian girl and a straight-lipped older black guy – and he’s disappointed because the one person he was really hoping to see doesn’t seem to have turned up. 

“Sit down, everyone. We can get started and the stragglers can catch up.” Peter is suddenly exuding an aura of control, and Stiles has that uncomfortable feeling again. He should probably get laid pretty soon, though he tries not to let any images pass through his mind now he’s faced with a table full of gorgeous people, and just sips his coffee instead, the just-too-hot temperature managing to distract him. Ooh, he can make himself useful instead.  
“Can I get anyone a coffee?” He might be a total klutz in most things, but he’s been working as a barista for two years now, and it’s one thing he’s pretty good at. Peter goes back to smirking, but it’s knocked off his face somewhat when Stiles remembers everyone’s order perfectly first time. It also takes some of the scowls off the odd grumpy face round the table, so he’s happy he’s done a good thing. Plus, they did the introductions while he was preparing them, so he now knows the hot blond is Jackson, the Asian girl is Kira, the brunette is Allison, and the black guy is Alan, who he now thinks he recognizes as one of those ubiquitous ‘bit-part’ character actors.

Suddenly, the external door swings open, letting the bright LA sun into the dim room. This is it, this is what he came for. Except it’s not, as a tall, built, dark-skinned man steps through and briefly raises his hand in a wave before walking over to where Stiles is standing.  
“Boyd, I thought-,” Peter is cut off by a new entrant, who hisses in frustration as the interior darkness renders his too-cool shades a liability as he slams the door behind him.  
“Don’t say a word, Peter.” Derek Hale strides to the reading table and slumps into a seat, throwing his glasses down as if they’d personally offending him. “Coffee, black,” he barks over and Stiles looks at Boyd, presuming he was the recipient, but that man just shrugs, the faintest smile on his full lips.

Coffee made, Stiles places it in front of Derek, who grunts out something that might charitably be called a thanks, and Stiles ponders on the phrase ‘never meet your heroes’.

Peter is still standing at the head of the table, now looking between Derek and Stiles, and definitely looking like he wants to laugh. Stiles rolls his eyes, making sure Peter can see, and sips his now lukewarm coffee.  
“Hey, I forgot a couple of introductions. Boyd over there is our head of security, so you’ll see him everyday when we film. Get him onside and he’ll keep the crazy fans away from you, but don’t expect him to speak.” Boyd doesn’t even crack a smile at that, but Peter doesn’t seem bothered. “And Stiles is here to watch the read through, as Scott’s incredibly supportive best friend, though we might just hire him as a production assistant, as he is _very_ good at making coffee.” Peter and Stiles are both watching Derek as he says that, and Stiles is pleased that the guy at least blushes and shifts in his seat, though he doesn’t say anything. Stiles doesn’t expect a Shakespearean sonnet, but the guy was fucking rude, and he’s glad he isn’t really a production assistant here, because those guys are going to have a tough time of it. 

Things start to settle down after that, and Peter chooses a scene for them to read through. Stiles is no expert, but Scott has told him this was meant to be a comedy-drama, and Stiles isn’t seeing it. Sure, he’d said the focus was more on drama and the comedy is meant to be pretty dark, but the interaction is way too straight, and he’s itching to say something, though he won’t. At least Scott is as good as Stiles knew he would be, and Derek has some chops too, even if a lot of his lines fall flat. He’s known for being a dramatic actor – award-winning – but he’s obviously hoping to try his hand at something else here and, despite his good timing, it’s not working. The scenes where they’re talking to Kira and Jackson, who Stiles has worked out are playing cops, are terrible, and he can tell Alan, who is playing their boss, is getting frustrated that his lines are getting lost in that lack of connection. 

After almost an hour of that, Peter insists they break for food, and he approaches Stiles, who found himself a seat to the side.  
“What do you think?”  
“You really want to know?”  
“I don’t ask questions I don’t want an answer to.”  
“Fine. I’ll watch it because Scott’s in it, but for no other reason, and if I was a big star like Derek Hale I’d be looking for a way out of my contract.”  
“I suppose I did ask.” Stiles shrugs. “The writing is good, though. On paper it was so good. Derek wrote it, you know, with Danny Mahealani.” Now that’s a name Stiles knows. He’s been a writer on some of the best comedies recently – the witty, sharp ones that Stiles really likes.  
“Why isn’t he here?”  
“He’s pissed. He got vetoed on some of the casting, because the people he wanted cost too much. Plus, there would have been too many big names. Comedy names – and this isn’t that kind of show, though I’m beginning to think he might have been right in the direction he wanted to go.”  
“Well, this isn’t working.”  
“Yes, well, thank you for your candor,” Peter’s sarcastic, but then his face lights up. “Hey, my reading isn’t helping, but Theo hasn’t arrived yet.” Another name Stiles knows; Theo Raeken is, apparently, a rising star. “Read for him.”  
“What?”  
“Sit at the table and read for him. That way I can watch from the outside, where I should be for this, and you get the full experience on your field trip.”

Stiles can’t argue with that, even if he wants to, and he’s maybe even a bit excited at the prospect, so he agrees, and finds himself positioned between a scowling Derek Hale and a smirking Jackson Whittemore.  
“We can be very thankful Stiles has agreed to read for Theo, so let’s see if we can get something extra into the next scene.” He gets some interested looks from the actors, but only Derek still looks pissed. Stiles shakes it off, as there’s no point getting worried what some sour dick, who seemingly thinks he’s slumming it, thinks of him.

_“I’m writing a book,” Stiles, as Tyler, says.  
“About me?” Derek, as Roman, asks.  
“No, I’m writing a good book.”  
“Guys, can we focus on the body?” Scott asks.  
“Rather not. It’s a bit…chewy.”  
“That reminds me, we need to get groceries,” Roman interjects.  
“Do not…you were thinking of jerky, weren’t you?” Kira’s Detective Aki Sato asks with a grimace.  
“We have enough jerks around here,” Jackson’s Detective Aiden Hops rolls his eyes.  
“Leave the funny to him,” Scott gestures to Tyler.  
“Not tryna be funny,” Hops mutters.  
“The body, what did the coroner say?” Scott asks, and Sato pauses, riffling her script as if looking through a notebook.  
“Aged eighteen to twenty-five, blunt force trauma as cause of death…”  
“No clothes,” Scott points out.  
“Uh, yeah, naked.”  
“Naked times are fun times. Until they’re not,” Tyler opines and Roman rolls his eyes.  
“You suggesting he was fucked to death?”  
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s a big tell, though. If he’s our missing client, who was being stalked by his certifiable ex…”_

Their read-through is interrupted by the light, and then the slamming, from the main door, followed by a lot of choice words.  
“Problem, Chris?” Peter asks calmly.  
“You could fucking say that. Ask her,” the man glares at the young woman by his side, his piercing blue eyes speaking volumes.  
“I’m afraid Theo has broken his contract,” the red-headed woman says, her full mouth turned down in a move that could look snarky on someone else, but seems genuine to Stiles.  
“’You’re afraid’, Lydia?” Peter asks, not screaming and shouting like Chris, but clearly almost as angry. “You got him that contract. You negotiated every clause.”  
“Not for him to fuck you over,” she growls, and Peter looks surprised, so Stiles is guessing she doesn’t lose it very often. “You know I will fight for what’s right, but that clause is only ever there to protect my employer from unfair treatment and being pressured. He wasn’t supposed to use it to keep auditioning behind my back. He landed a Michael Bay movie; decided that would be what makes him.”  
“And, annoyingly, he’s probably right,” Chris seems to have calmed down, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly.  
“I quit, anyway.” Peter _really_ looks surprised then.  
“Why? You’d be set for a massive pay day from that.”  
“I have morals, Peter. Unlike you.”

“It’s irrelevant,” Chris sighs. “We’re going to have to re-audition. Did we see anyone else for that role we can call back?”  
“Actually,” Peter’s smirk is back, and he glances at Stiles. “I have a better idea. Hire him.”  
“Who’s he?”  
“What the fuck? You can’t just give one of the main roles to some random off the street,” Derek sputters.  
“I don’t see why not,” Peter shrugs. “His timing is impeccable. He’s making you look good, Derek. Better than Theo did during the auditions.”  
“You’ll need an assistant,” Lydia smiles, looking vaguely shark-like and a little terrifying.  
“Won’t he need an agent?” Scott asks, desperately trying to keep up.  
“Not if he has Lydia as an assistant,” Peter smiles, apparently fully recovered. 

* * * * * 

“God, it’s crazy. I can’t believe it started so easily,” Stiles laughs, going to take a sip of wine, suddenly realizing his glass, and the bottle, is empty.  
“Right place at the right time,” Derek smiles. “That’s how it starts for most of us.”  
“And now we’re about to head into a second season, with a third already optioned.”  
“Hope you got Lyd to renegotiate your contract for season two?”  
“Of course. Hey, I’ll be able to afford places like this!” The pair of them laugh hard, though only Stiles’ sounds drunk, drawing more attention from the other patrons.  
“Come on. The portions here are tiny, anyway. Let’s get burgers.” Derek drops a couple of big notes on the table and guides Stiles out. 

They eat their greasy takeout burgers sitting high above the city, watching the sparkling lights of tinseltown far below.  
“Thanks Derek.”  
“What for?”  
“A perfect first date.”  
“Hardly perfect.”  
“Nope. This is everything I could dream of.” Stiles leans over, resting his hand on the still warm hood, pressing his lips against Derek’s. When he finally pulls back, he lays back on the hood, looking up at the real stars, feeling Derek do the same, and when he feels Derek’s fingers curl against his, Stiles realizes perfect just got more…perfect.


	2. You are not alone, dear loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some development for Stiles and Lydia's friendship. I'm tempted to make each chapter that kind of development with a different side-character each time (with Sterek thrown in, of course), but I'm also getting pretty excited for the full story that's coming up as the next section of the series, so might divert to that, and come back to this section intermittently when I come up with something I want to reveal in this section of the timeline

“Oh my god!” Stiles has, literally, never heard Lydia being so high-pitched. “I’m so happy for you.”  
“Could you maybe keep it down so the rest of the restaurant doesn’t get chance to be happy for us too?” Derek grouses, but his lip is twitching.  
“Sorry,” Lyd whispers, “it’s just amazing, and I can’t believe I’m the first person you told.”

Well, Lydia is important to him; his best friend, after Derek and Scott. But they haven’t told Scott yet, and telling Lydia is more about practical reasons than anything. She runs every aspect of Stiles’ media-life, and is going to notice his sudden unavailability, now that him and Derek are spending even more time together. She is also a master of misdirection and control, and can help them keep their secret, provided she doesn’t accidentally scream it out herself.

They’re in another high-class restaurant, but Stiles is fine with it this time. It might not be his scene, but it _is_ Lydia’s, and Stiles had known it would distract her from the fact that they’ve kept this from her for several weeks. 

“You know what, the public’s obsession with you guys actually works in our favor here. They’ve spent so long shipping the pair of you that only the obsessive stans still believe it, so even if you’re photographed together, most media outlets aren’t that interested, provided you don’t get caught making out in public.” She has a point, as there had been a time when every photo of him and Derek together had been subject for gossip and analysis. But there had been so many innocent photos: Derek with his arm round Stiles or hand on the small of his back, Stiles leaving Derek’s home in the hills, the pair of them fooling around in the surf, or seated across from each other at a café; that interest has waned. Comments on such pictures now tend to be reasonable people telling the stalkers to just leave them alone and let them be friends. Stiles can’t help feeling a bit guilty about that, especially when he thinks of the effect on other male friendships put under the microscope when they do finally decide to go public. 

He’s grateful for having Lydia at his side, though. She’ll make everything work. She always has.

* * * * * 

“Sign it.”  
“Don’t I get to read it first?”  
“No need. I wrote it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, just a little, but he signs it anyway.  
“Good boy.” He vows to never tell his father about this, but he does trust Lydia. She’s terrifyingly efficient, but, even after only two weeks as his ‘assistant’ (read: life coach, close friend, and surrogate mom) it’s clear that she’s fiercely loyal and, for some reason, has already decided to take Stiles firmly under her wing.

“So, now you’re officially part of the team, we need to discuss your PR.”  
“What do I need PR for?”  
“Stiles,” she sighs, as if reaching the end of her tether at having to explain the most obvious to a total newbie; but there’s fondness there too, “this show already has a lot of media buzz, because of Derek being on board, and writing it-,”  
“Is that why he’s such an impossible jerk? The pressure?” Lydia shoots him a look he can’t quite place, but she shrugs, and the moment passes.  
“Anyway, like I say, the media is all over it, and it’s only going to get more intense when the first season actually drops-,” 

Stiles feels as though he’s one step behind constantly. Everyone else just seems to know what’s going on – even Scott, who isn’t exactly the most observant. They’ve done a few read-throughs since that first one; each one a little better than the last, and they’re starting rehearsals today. That’s why Lydia needed him to sign the contract that she negotiated with Peter’s production company. So, things are moving, and Stiles is starting to wonder if he’ll ever catch up. 

He had the most embarrassing moment of his life (so far) when he approached Allison and Isaac, a week ago, when they were curled up on the ‘Scott’s apartment’ couch, leafing through a big book of, apparently, different colors.  
“How’s it going Stiles?” Isaac had looked up with his usual warm smile, and Stiles had decided it was a good time to ask something that had been intriguing him. Allison had burst out laughing.  
“I’m not an actor, I’m the costume designer. I’m just here to get a vibe for everyone and work out what’s going to make them look their best on screen. Isaac’s the make-up artist.”  
“Huh? But you were-,?” For the first time, Stiles had seen Isaac’s angry face (it still resembled a puppy, but a pissed one)  
“Yeah, I ended up on that show by accident. They just liked my look. I’ve got Peter to thank for getting away, so when he asked me to do him a favor and work for him, I was more than happy to. I owe him. Besides, I always preferred doing the make-up.” Isaac had seemed such a combination of mad and upset, Stiles hadn’t dared ask him what he meant, but something had clearly happened on the huge-budget superhero show he’d been the sidekick on. It opened up more questions though. Why did big-Hollywood-producer Peter Hale need to get a favor from a make-up artist?

Maybe he can find the answer to that from Lydia.  
“Okay,” he sits up, trying to look proactive and like he’s got his shit together, but suspecting he’s falling somewhat short. “What do I need to do?”  
“Everything I tell you to. You need to move before fans start to build – somewhere with secure access. It’s useful you have a stage name,” Stiles had finally got around to telling everyone his real name and, following the usual bewilderment on how to pronounce it, it hadn’t taken long for agreement that his childhood nickname, Mischief, would be a good alternative. “It’s memorable, but we can use it to distract people too.” Stiles doesn’t want to worry what she means by that – there’s enough that’s overwhelming about this. 

“I’m sorry, by the way, that I couldn’t get you a better deal.” Stiles glances at the, frankly enormous, dollar figure on his contract. “You’ve probably worked out this is a passion project for Peter and Derek.” He hadn’t, but he can see an opening when it’s offered to him.  
“Before you laugh, remember that I am totally new to this industry… Peter and Derek – the matching surname isn’t just a coincidence, is it?”  
“And Cora, the production assistant. Peter is Cora and Derek’s uncle. And Allison and Chris isn’t a coincidence either, before you ask.” He hadn’t been about to, as he had no idea they shared a surname, but it does explain a lot about their interactions. “Danny’s an old friend too, and he and Derek wrote the script for fun originally, but then it became something that Derek was really desperate to make a go of, and he convinced his uncle to buy in.”  
“But Peter’s production company is huge?”  
“Yeah, and he had power, but the investors weren’t coming out for a pretty boy serious actor writing his own stuff and playing it witty. So they’ve bankrolled a lot themselves, and only been given one season to prove themselves. They have a lot riding on its success.”  
“Do you think they’ll make it?” Stiles is only asking out of interest; he’s never had a lot riding on anything.  
“I do. It’s genuinely good. But that’s why you need me. You’re more important to this than you realize, Stiles.”  
“Why?”  
“Because the audience is going to eat you up, and you need to be ready.”

* * * * * 

She hadn’t been lying, all those years ago. The show had been a huge hit with fans, who were furious when it wasn’t renewed for a second season, and had all signed up for the movie Peter _had_ managed to get investors for. That had not only been a massive commercial success, but also developed a cult following, that kept merchandising going for the year-long hiatus they’d had to take, before the show was picked up again by a streaming service, and they've almost finished filming season two, which is proving just as much of a hit. While it's true that if Stiles never sees another convention again it will be too soon, he's aware that a big reason for those loyal fans is their fondness for him, and for his and Derek’s on-screen chemistry. He will be ever-thankful he’s had Lydia to navigate that quagmire. 

* * * * * 

Stiles and Derek have made it a further two weeks in their secretive journey, but they can both tell it’s coming to an end. It’s their own fault. Even being known for physical closeness, the fact that they can’t seem to go more than a few minutes without touching is raising plenty of eyebrows. 

“Why aren’t you two talking?” Isaac asks as he works foundation into Stiles’ skin to make him more pale. Derek pulls back from where he was examining the bags under his eyes in the harshly-lit mirror – too many late nights talking about anything and everything with Stiles – and his green eyes flick between Stiles and Isaac, panicked.  
“What do you mean?!”  
“Smooth, dude,” Stiles rolls his eyes.  
“You’ve stopped speaking to each other whenever there’s anyone else there. Like, stopping in the middle of a sentence-type stopping. It’s almost like- shit, you aren’t, are you? You are! About time.”  
“What?!” Stiles sighs at Derek’s sudden lack of coherence and turns to Isaac.  
“You got us. But can you keep it to yourself?”  
“Well, yeah. Of course. But why? And it’s not really fair. I think it’s Jackson who’d win the pot.”  
“What? You guys have been betting…?”  
“On how long it would be before you finally admitted you were super into each other? Yeah. But we keep having to re-set. You’ve held out longer than any of us thought. Multiple times. I’m pleased for you. About time, like I said.”

_“We have to take the case!” Scott announces, pacing around his apartment. Erica, playing his best friend Lacey, stands in his kitchen in her pajama pants and a cropped tank top and pours out a giant glass of blackcurrant juice masquerading as wine before gulping half of it down.  
“Why? That psycho-bitch broke your heart. Twice. You owe her nothing.”  
“Much as I hate agreeing with Lacey – boy, you really do attract psycho-bitches, Scott – she’s right.”  
“Go jump off a mountain, Roman.”  
“Only if you’ll show me how.”  
“Stop hiding your love behind pointless bickering and pour me some of that wine,” Tyler slides on socked feet to the kitchen island and accepts a glass from Lacey. Roman steps closer and places his hand over Tyler’s on the glass, pulling it to himself to take a drink and smirking at the wide-eyed look on Tyler’s face.  
“Er…” Scott stops pacing but covers it by flopping onto the couch. “You guys are right. But it’s not for her. If what she says is true, it isn’t just her in danger, but my kid too. I have to do something.”_

“Cut.” The scene’s meant to be another several minutes and everyone looks surprised, but Chris strides forward across the camera. “The fans love the interaction between you two, Derek and Stiles, but not at the sake of missing half the lines. You just left Scott totally hanging. And, really, you’re selling it too hard. You know the romance is meant to be Lacey and Roman in season three.”  
“That’s so cliché,” Stiles huffs quietly.  
“You think we should make it a gay romance?” Stiles jumps; he hadn’t even been aware Peter was standing in the shadows. Stiles glances at Derek, who shrugs back. Maybe it’s time.  
“Well, we could make it pretty realistic,” Stiles admits, and is surprised by the warm smile on Peter’s face.  
“Okay. We’ll do that. Write it in, Derek. Oh, and congratulations, boys. And, everyone else, don’t forget the non-disclosure agreement.” Stiles and Derek can’t keep the grins off their faces as their friends gather around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting upgraded to 'explicit' next chapter
> 
> Some slight edits, because writing in present tense is hard and apparently I forgot how (and if you spot any mistakes I've left in drop a comment, though remember past tense is appropriate when Stiles is thinking about the past (for real, my head almost broke trying to get that right, and I'm still not sure I have))


	3. Sleep in peace when the day is done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the chapter I expected to write, but I'm a huge fan of the Stackson broship and had an urge I gave in to

“This is bullshit. We’re meant to be professionals, and _he_ keeps fucking up.” Stiles rolls his shoulders, stepping away from where the lighting guy is moving stuff around – stepping away from Jackson, who is doing a good impression of a five-year-old: all pouting and whiny voice.  
“Jackson, it’s nothing to do with Stiles. You were both great, but the shadows were all wrong.” Chris is trying to soothe him, and Stiles wishes Peter was there, as he seems to be the only one that can calm Jackson down when he’s in full diva mode.

He can barely believe they’ve managed to film the first ten episodes with the way Jackson behaves. You really would think he was the star; or at least you’d believe Jackson _thinks_ he is. He makes constant demands, and then sulks when he doesn’t get his own way (and, to be fair to Peter and Chris, he actually doesn’t get his own way all that often). Stiles can tell Peter is getting more frustrated at the unnecessary delays caused by Jackson’s regular meltdowns, as every one costs money in delayed shoots, but Stiles also has to admit Jackson is really good, and perfect at playing his character (well, Detective Hops is meant to be a humorless douche, so that works), so can understand why they persevere with him. 

Stiles uses the few minutes the lighting change offers him to run to his dressing room and check for emails, as he’s waiting to hear from college as to whether he’ll be able to finish his degree online. When he steps back into the corridor he’s taken by surprise – slammed hard against the wall, the air escaping him with a forced whoosh.  
“Jackson…?” he gets out, his voice strained and Jackson pressing into his shoulders.  
“You will _not_ ruin this for me.” Thankfully, he relaxes his hands, and Stiles can breathe again.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Everything’s so easy for you, isn’t it, _Mischief_?” Jackson’s snideness doesn’t anger Stiles, like it might have done the last time they filmed (like it _had_ last time they filmed, and they’d snarked so hard at each other Jackson had stormed out and refused to finish the scene, and Stiles had felt like a dick for causing Chris hassle).  
“Jackson, you don’t have to blame me-,”  
“Fuck off, Stilinski.” Jackson pushes himself off Stiles, stalking back out to the set without a backward glance.

* * * * * 

“Why are we having a wrap party?”  
“It’s not a wrap party,” Isaac admits, lightly applying eyeliner to Stiles, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. “Peter just wants to celebrate the reaction the opening of the season’s having. We’re trending! That’s a big deal. A really big deal. It means we’re having an impact.”

Stiles doesn’t quite understand it. The show is fun, for sure – amusing and dark in equal measure, and Derek and Danny have written well-rounded characters that feel real, despite the ridiculous and not very realistic situations they find themselves in (Peter is in the process of securing them a police consultant, at Stiles’ suggestion, so they don’t veer too far), but it isn’t exactly hard-hitting. 

He had asked Peter, when everyone else had been dancing around because of the almost wholly positive reviews, why it was such a hit. He hadn’t known, for sure, but he’d had some theories about a lot of it being due to LGBT representation. Stiles had felt a little guilty then, being so firmly in the closet, as he realized that he could do the show some good if he chose to, but he felt like he was drowning every time he seriously considered it.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t sure Peter’s right. Sure, Erica’s character is bi, but there isn’t even a love interest (and they’d planned on it being a guy anyway), but they have attracted a lot of #ally in the wake of that being revealed, and reading some of the tweets it’s because they _haven’t_ made it a big issue – it being casually revealed in a scene between her and Scott when they both agreed on the attractiveness of a female client. It hadn’t been done on purpose – Danny and Derek had just said it went with the exuberant personality they’d built for her – and Erica herself is actually straight. There has been the odd commentator bitching about that, though Jackson is out and proud but playing a straight character, so the show’s own PR team (with Lydia’s help) counteracted it with some stories about the set being an entirely non-judgmental place, due to the fluidity of orientation, and it not being anyone else’s damn business (Stiles thinks he might be the tiniest bit in love with Lydia, even if it’s balanced by being terrified of her too).

No, the reason for the show being such a success just seems like one of those mystical ‘right theme at the right time’ things. And Stiles really doesn’t know how he feels about it. He’d never planned to be some kind of celebrity, with people who don’t know him thinking they do, and wanting to be involved in his life in some way. He has a hard enough time with people who _do_ know him. Not that there’s many of them. Sure, he’s finding it easy enough to let Lydia in – as if she’d have it any other way – but before her there was only truly ever Scott, and his dad. But already, his Instagram has blown up from a hundred or so followers to several thousand (which Lydia has been loving, by the way, and he feels like there is at least one picture of him doing absolutely everything feasible, bar going to the bathroom – and there’d probably be that if she thought she could get away with it).

But tonight isn’t for worrying about what his new-found fame actually means for his future, and his freedom. Tonight is for celebrating with people who he’s almost starting to consider friends, some of them, and other people who he’s forced to spend time with because he’s bound by a contract.

When he arrives at the bar, with Lydia, she guides him to the roped-off VIP area, and, as he orders a drink from the attractive waiter, he can almost feel that this is something he could get used to. Everyone is in an ecstatic mood, and, by the time he’s had another drink, he doesn’t even blush when Isaac plonks himself down on Stiles’ lap. The only person not in a good mood is Jackson, and that’s only when he looks at Stiles – he seems fine the rest of the time, even getting up to dance with Lydia at one point. 

“You made it then,” he hears Peter jovially yell (it’s pretty loud in here), and Stiles looks up to see he’s talking to Derek, who has some stunning brunette entwined around him, clinging to his broad shoulders with talon-like nails. Her grin is just as predatory; so proud of herself to have snagged the movie-star – People’s sexiest man alive from the year before. Boyd is just behind him and Stiles finally realizes that, whilst his official role might be head of security for the show, his actual role is as Derek’s personal guard, and Stiles wonders how much Derek manages to put the stoic man through.

‘Scott’s Landing’ might be Derek’s baby – the show he created from scratch, with a lot of help – but in the weeks since they started filming Stiles hasn’t seen any real evidence that he cares about it. He does a good job – there’s no doubting that he’s an amazing actor, and, despite the roles he was previously known for, he’s killing the lighthearted persona he’s written for himself – but he lets Danny deal with any re-writes and he turns up only for filming and leaves straight after. He regularly brings some beauty queen onto set (a different one every time), and, unlike the others, he shows no interest in becoming friends with his co-stars or the crew. Stiles thinks he’s a bit of a dick, but luckily he’s kept that thought to himself.

Which is why Stiles is beyond surprised when the couch beneath him shifts as Derek sits heavily in the space to his side.   
“Uh, hi Derek,” Stiles tries, but he gets no response, as talon-girl clambers onto Derek’s lap and strives to eat him alive. Stiles struggles not to make a face, but it’s hard. The woman is hot, for sure, but he’s finding it harder to see women as sexually attractive – his Kinsey rating seems to be climbing daily – and the sight is making him feel a little squicky. Though that could be the extra drink cute waiter just brought over – he’s always been a bit of a lightweight.  
“Go dance, baby,” Derek grumbles after a minute. The woman huffs but obeys, and Stiles uncharitably thinks that Derek’s probably used to hot women simply obeying his every demand. It doesn’t seem healthy. “He doesn’t hate you, you know?” Stiles jumps and turns to Derek with a question in his eyes. “Jackson. He doesn’t hate you.”  
“He’s doing some super bad acting then.”  
“He’s jealous.” What the fuck of?  
“What of?”  
“You, obviously. I’ve been watching, trying to get a read on everyone; make sure I know where I stand.” Is that why he doesn’t speak to anyone? Because he’s ‘watching’? Creepy. “He’s jealous because everyone adores you, and you don’t even have to try. And you walked into this role without even really wanting it. He did four auditions before he was offered a role, and his is still less important than yours.”  
“Not exactly my fault.”  
“No. But you’re empathic, right?” Stiles shrugs. He’s always just thought he’s a bit of a walk-over. “So you can see how it would be hard for him, when he’s been pushed so hard his whole life to make a success of this life, and you have success without any of that. Plus you aren’t fake. People in this industry are _so_ fake so he’s spent his whole life not being himself. He was a child actor, and his parents are pushy. He’s never been able to live up to the promise. Once he became a teenager he stopped getting roles. Wasn’t cute enough. So this is his first one in years and he’s sensitive about it.”

Stiles ponders that Derek’s watching might be weird, but he seems to be a good judge of people. And he has plenty of empathy himself.   
“Okay. So, Mr Watcher, how do I stop Jackson being such a dick to me?”  
“Easy. Be as nice to him as you are to everyone else. Which means: stop being scared of him, and just treat him like a person. He’ll be putty in your hands.”  
“So creepy.” Derek actually laughs at that, and it makes something warm well up in Stiles’ chest. Derek doesn’t relax often, and it’s a side of him Stiles could definitely bear seeing more of. But not tonight, as vampire-chick is back, and Derek’s nice side vanishes again, a scowl replacing the happy smile.  
“See you next week for filming. Gotta get Marcy home.” Derek rolls his eyes, but despite Derek’s returning sourness, Stiles can’t help but feel a little envious of Marcy getting to go home with him.

* * * * * 

Jackson wraps a muscular arm around Stiles’ neck, rubbing his knuckles forcefully into his scalp.  
“Get off!” Stiles sputters, smacking Jackson away with uncoordinated flappy hands.  
“We’re finished, you have to be happy.”  
“I was, dick, until you broke my brain with your dumb fist.”  
“I could do much more fun things to you with my fist,” Jackson growls, tickling Stiles’ sides as he blushes furiously at the implication. He’s always been able to take Jackson’s (extremely platonic but very dirty) flirting before, but with things developing with Derek, his mind jumps to filthy places _very_ quickly these days. “Oh, my bad, it’ll be De-,”  
“Shut up, shut up, shut up. You’re disgusting.” Jackson just laughs, hugging Stiles. He’s on a total high, it would seem, after their long day doing another press junket for the forthcoming series. They started at eight am, and it’s now six, and they’ve subsisted on coffee and muffins and adrenaline the whole day.

“On that note, I have to go home and nap. I have a date.”  
“You’re the disgusting one. Barf.” But Jackson is smiling, and hugs Stiles a little tighter, letting some of his genuine happiness come through. 

Stiles would never have believed Jackson and he could be so close, but he’d taken Derek’s advice all those years ago, and now Jackson is like another brother, alongside Scott. Sure, Jackson is the douchey older brother who gives nipple twisters and wet willies, and god forbid anyone show emotion in front of him; but he is loyal and supportive, as long as he can do it in as an aggressive way as possible. Stiles accepts that, because Jackson sometimes lets Stiles see the fragility he carries underneath; the fear that he’ll never be good enough, and, even more rarely, will sometimes allow Stiles to show him that he isn’t a failure, and that there are plenty of people around him who can see that too. 

“You fucked him yet then? Or, more likely, been fucked by him?” Not today though, apparently.  
“That’s so far from being your business. And, no. We’re taking it slow.”  
“Why? I mean, you’ve been closeted for so long. Have you even gotten laid in years?” It’s true Stiles has shied away from that side of himself since college, which he’s half ashamed of and half pleased about, knowing that what he and Derek will have will be that much more special to him, and he has no idea where Derek stands on it. Their many conversations have kind of skirted around that.  
“Unlike you, Jackson, my life doesn’t revolve around sex-,”  
“That’s fucking fortunate. Shit, you aren’t a virgin, are you? If you are, you don’t want Derek – he’s probably as clueless as you-,” Jackson breaks off, laughing, as Stiles growls and chases him around the hotel suite their junket was in. “I’ll do a much better job-,”  
“Very much over my dead body.” The two of them come to a stop, panting and grinning, Stiles looking guiltily at Derek standing in the doorway, arms impassively crossed over his wide chest. He doesn’t look mad for long, breaking into an adorable lop sided smile as Stiles jumps over a low coffee table, opening his arms just in time to catch him.   
“Don’t worry, Der. I’m only yours.” Derek leans forward to nuzzle into Stiles’ neck, pulling him close.  
“If you two are going to be gross, I’m leaving,” Jackson huffs but gives Stiles’ back a brief hug, and pats Derek on the shoulder on his way out.

Stiles yawns, pulling himself more against Derek.  
“You’re tired, we can postpone tonight.”  
“Nope. Wanna be with you.” But Stiles is almost asleep, instantly relaxed and only held up by Derek’s strong hands. He can feel himself being carried, but Derek is so strong he’s barely jostled, and he can vaguely hear Derek talking as he’s gently placed on something as soft as a cloud.

He can’t help it; when he feels Derek’s warmth move away he mewls and makes pathetic grabby hands, still with his eyes closed.  
“Hush, demanding boy,” Derek’s voice is fond, but Stiles forces an eye open when he still doesn’t come back. Derek’s moving around the room, collecting coffee cups and plates onto a tray, and Stiles realizes he’s on the huge bed. He settles, knowing Derek will be back soon, and lets his head rest deeper into the heavy pillow, just for a moment.

He’s disorientated when he comes to, but can feel Derek’s body, that he’s curled into, so doesn’t really care, just pushing his nose against Derek’s side, his long fingers tickling over the little bit of flesh revealed by Derek’s Henley riding up.  
“How do you feel?”  
“Horny,” Stiles mumbles, and flushes because he hadn’t been prepared for his filter being so off kilter. Derek chuckles though, and Stiles snuggles in harder.   
“You hungry? I ordered room service when you went to sleep, it should be getting delivered in twenty minutes. Good timing.”  
“What time is it?” Stiles can see the weak stars out of the floor-to-ceiling window next to the bed.  
“Almost nine.”  
“Don’t we have to get out of here?”  
“Nope,” Derek’s grin looks decidedly feral for a moment. “I spoke to Peter. The room’s booked till the morning, so we may as well use it.” Stiles sits up, all sleepiness forgotten.  
“You want to stay here tonight? The two of us?”  
“Shit,” Derek seems to realize what he’s implying. “We don’t have to. I didn’t mean- we don’t have to-,”  
“It’s okay,” and it is. Stiles was a bit shocked at the sudden offer – they haven’t even talked about moving their relationship to the next level – but they have been dating for weeks, and Stiles _is_ ready. He thinks.   
“No. I hadn’t even thought properly ahead. I don’t want-,” it seems to be Derek’s turn to blush. “You bring something out of me, Stiles, that I didn’t even think was there. I’ve never been with anyone who makes me feel like you do?”  
“You sure? You don’t seem it.”  
“Don’t hate me. I used to lie to people. I wanted a connection so badly that I thought I could lie one into fruition. It backfired, badly.” Stiles really wants to know what he means by that, but doesn’t want to derail Derek’s revelations, that he’s clearly struggling with. “After that, I decided I didn’t want to risk anything that meant something, and when the agent I had back then told me it would be better if I stuck to dating women it was convenient to believe him, and it made it easier to stick to because it was about then that I realized it was men I preferred. Since then, most of what I’ve had has been purely for show. Women who want to make a name for themselves and think a couple of dates with me will help them do that. Mutually beneficial disdain.”  
“I don’t hate you. It’s not like I’m swimming in the rainbow pool myself.”  
“Do you think you ever will?”  
“When it’s right for you and me, yes.” Stiles can see the breath Derek lets out at that, hopefully one of relief, and he leans in to press his lips against Derek’s.

Derek looks shocked when Stiles jumps up, spinning toward the bathroom.  
“I feel gritty and gross. Gonna shower and then we can eat and watch TV.” When he gets out, having gone crazy with all the tiny bottles and lotions, and wrapped in a huge white toweling robe, that could almost go round his body twice, his eyes light up at the spread Derek has laid out on the round table he’s pulled to the end of the bed.  
“You want pizza?”  
“It looks like you ordered one of everything. Good, I’m starving.” Stiles is hungry but after a whole day barely eating he feels stuffed after half a portion of chicken alfredo and a slice of pizza. The TV is on in the background, but they aren’t watching; eating in mainly silence, one handed, with the other entwined. 

They sit back against the headboard when they’re done, Derek bringing up a plate of rich chocolate cake.  
“For later. Hey, watch!” he points to the TV, where Stiles and Jackson are filling the screen. “Damn, they got that edited fast.”  
“Is this E News?” Stiles can’t remember the questions – they all merge after a while – but he hopes he didn’t say anything embarrassing. He always has the fear, even though he’s never said anything too bad before, despite his rambling. 

_The perky interviewer swipes his scarf over his shoulder and leans forward slightly.  
“You guys all seem to have a great time on set. Are you all best friends?” Jackson looks at Stiles with a smirk.  
“We are _now_.”  
“You spend as much time together as we all do, and you either become best friends or murder each other. We decided to all be best friends.”  
“You’re one of the few shows where all the set gossip that comes out is overwhelmingly positive. Particularly between you and Derek, Mischief. Are you more than best friends?” Luckily, Stiles has become used to the question so much so that he doesn’t even blush (almost every interviewer today asked him some variation on it), and he’s very good at deflecting.  
“We’re close. He’s been an absolute rock to all of us and I don’t know what we’d do without him.”_

“A rock, am I?” Derek rolls on the bed, pressing against Stiles’ side, one thick thigh looping over Stiles’.  
“You are. Get off me, you lump.” But Stiles grasps Derek’s shoulders, preventing him from actually moving. He looks up at Derek through thick lashes and nibbles his lip, in the way he’s already worked out gets Derek crazy. Right on cue, Derek growls, pushing Stiles back and pressing their lips together, the tentative swipe of his tongue in contrast to the demanding pressure of his mouth. Stiles opens gladly. Derek’s kisses make him dizzy, and he loves it. He could kiss Derek all night – and that’s all they’ve been doing up till now. Stiles loves that Derek isn’t putting pressure on him to take things further, but, now, he _wants_ some pressure, wants to feel more, and he wriggles his body; a gentle writhe to hint to Derek what’s beneath him – what he can have if he’ll only make a move. Stiles might be a mouthy little shit out there in his normal life, but this is his Derek-life, and all he wants here is to let Derek lead, and to take him apart.

“I don’t think we should-,” Derek pulls back, and Stiles doesn’t hold back the desperate whine. “Fuck Stiles, what are you doing to me?” Stiles has a moment – a powerful but brief pang – where he worries Derek doesn’t really want him, and that’s why he won’t go further. But it passes, because he knows that’s not true. He _knows_ Derek, after all these years, and he isn’t lying about what he feels for Stiles.  
“Tell me, Der. Tell me why you want to wait.”  
“I did. Kind of…Okay, I got distracted. I’ve been a bad person, in the past, and I’m not making any of the same mistakes with you. I refuse. I want you in every way – but they have to be the right ways – and I’m not having our first time together in some random hotel room that we just happen to be in by chance, with no build up. I want our first time to be something we can talk about when we’re eighty, something we can look back on with pleasure because it was special.” Stiles kisses Derek even harder. He isn’t romantic, not really, but he loves that Derek is, and he can get behind that idea.

“But we could do other stuff?” he pants when they finally break for oxygen. He knows what he says won’t play at Derek’s heartstrings the way Derek’s words did at his, but he’s hard as granite now, and he might just be going a little insane after all these weeks of having Derek so close, yet so far.   
“You want?” Derek cocks his head like an adorable puppy.  
“So much, Der, please.” Derek grins then, and kisses down Stiles’ neck, pulling the robe open, revealing Stiles fully to his gaze.  
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he nips at Stiles’ nipples until the pink nubs are glistening and hard and Stiles is whimpering, rolling his hips up searching for friction, finally moving down; kissing and nipping and licking down Stiles’ smooth, pale torso, pausing at each dotted mole to swipe his tongue.  
“They’re real, you know, not chocolate.”  
“I know and they’re stunning. I love the way they decorate your body in perfect, pretty stars.” Stiles can’t respond, as Derek’s moved his mouth to Stiles’ sharp hips and is running his teeth along the bone, sucking harder, getting dangerously close to Stiles’ hard length, but never touching, bringing his hands up to run his fingers up the inside of Stiles’ thighs, tickling over the sensitive flesh with tips calloused from sport.

When Derek finally moves, to run a stripe up Stiles’ dick with the tip of his tongue, Stiles thinks he might just come from that.  
“Please, Der, stop teasing me, I can’t take it.”  
“Only for today. And only because you asked so nicely. But I’m going to tease you one day soon, until you’re a sweating, moaning mess and I can make you forget everything but your need to come. And I can’t wait.” Stiles shudders in anticipation, but can’t even respond, as Derek has swallowed him down almost to the root, in one move. 

As Derek moves smoothly, twisting his tongue while his hot mouth slides, Stiles throws his head back – utterly unable to think past the pleasure he’s feeling, until he can feel everything congregating in his stomach; muscles tightening in preparation for release.  
“Gonna- Der, can’t hold.”   
Derek only pauses long enough to growl, “Don’t then,” before diving back down, his throat, this time, massaging, and sending Stiles shooting past the point of no return, as he comes with a moan, toes curling and fists clenching, until Derek is lapping his oversensitive cock clean before shimmying back up the bed to kiss him again, with the same passion and adoration that was there before.

Stiles wants to return the favor (he’s been fantasizing about Derek’s cock for a lot longer than a few weeks), but he can relax, just for a minute, as Derek wraps him up, muscular arms pinning him in the safest little spoon ever, nuzzling at the back of his neck, and Stiles lets the wave of sleepiness wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely a couple of friendships I want to cover still, and I'm contemplating throwing in some hints of some other relationships (am I insane to want to see a Peter/Chris/Jackson grouping? I don't think I've ever seen it, but I love the thought that Peter and Chris are both capable of dealing with Jackson and I'm sure they could bring out his positive side really well)


	4. Come Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do hope the switch between the past and 'now' isn't confusing, but have added a double break to make it clear.

Stiles is over this. They’re filming the penultimate episode of season one, and he just wants the break that’s coming, but he feels guilty, because he knows everyone else is on tenterhooks about what’s coming next. The production company that Peter’s been working with have said they don’t want a season two – and, boy, if that wasn’t the most depressing meeting ever – but he’s been working hard to get funding for a movie, and Danny and Derek have been working double-time to pull together a script. The atmosphere on set is tense, and at least one person is having a meltdown pretty much every day.

He’d even thought he’d been developing something with Derek that could almost be considered friendship, but that seems to have dropped off lately with all the stress. Because they’re Scott’s sidekicks, they film nearly every scene together, and sometimes he can sense Derek doing his best not to lose his temper during a scene but, lately, it’s always close to the surface.

_”Shh, Tyler, here,” Roman grabs Tyler forcefully by the bicep, dragging him back and into the alley, shaded from the bright afternoon sun.  
“What?” Roman rolls his eyes at Tyler’s word and clenches his jaw, frustration clear, before he starts making wildly incomprehensible hand movements. “What?” Tyler forces out in an overloud whisper.  
“Just be quiet. He’s there, but he’s already seen Scott.” The camera pans out, to show Scott less than inconspicuously pacing the sidewalk; their mark looking up suspiciously.  
“So, what? We take him out? Where are Hops and Sato?”  
“They’re late, as usual. Yes, we need to take him. If Scott spooks him too much, he’s going to get away, and then we’ll have another body on our hands.”_

Stiles thinks he has it. Chris has some unexpected skills with hand-to-hand and has been training Stiles between shoots. Derek hasn’t needed more than a refresher, because he’s had multiple roles where he’s had specialists teaching him everything from Krav Maga to ballet (and Stiles won’t pretend he hasn’t enjoyed watching the sometimes sour man demonstrate those skills at any possible time), and they’ve rehearsed this scene, that involves them both running for the killer and performing an almost-dance, where they knock him to the ground but he gets his hands on Tyler and takes him hostage, ready for the cliffhanger, due to be resolved in the final episode of the season. 

When they’re given the go-ahead from Chris they both move into the sunshine, but immediately, it feels too much – the sun burning Stiles’ retinas after the dim of the alley, Derek’s large body swinging in front of him. He strives to keep moving on muscle memory, but it’s too ambitious after only a few hours of training, and he oversteps his final point, too far from the actor playing the killer. Derek covers him, but he can _see_ the irritation in his eyes, that isn’t entirely good acting. The killer is also well-versed in fight scenes, but Stiles makes the mistake of trying to get back into position, and he collides heavily with the man, feeling his head smack hard against something that feels like concrete, though is realistically only bone. Doesn’t stop it jarring though, as he falls to the ground well before he’s due, with a groan and a feeling of nausea that is definitely not in the script. 

Derek rushes to his side as Chris shouts ‘cut’, holding his hand out to stop anyone else coming close.  
“Mischief, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Stiles groans and tries to sit up, only managing it when he clings onto Derek’s forearm.  
“Yeah, I-I’m alright. Just a bit dizzy-,”  
“Well, what the hell were you playing at. You could have got really hurt.” Derek sounds mad, and Stiles forces down the queasiness he feels at being pulled to his feet.

Someone brings him some water, which he drinks gratefully, but he’s tempted to fling the empty bottle at Derek when he continues to berate Stiles for several minutes, before turning to Chris.  
“…And why do I have to do action scenes with someone who has no idea what they’re doing, Chris? He got hurt during sweeps too; this is just ridiculous.” Stiles’ head is starting to feel better, but his ego is taking a knock, and the worst part is he can’t argue back against Derek’s words. He isn’t an actor. He’s no kind of a professional. But he has something…  
“Well, if some sour dick would stop writing me in as the freaking damsel in distress, maybe I could avoid getting injured on set.”  
“That’s all you can be, isn’t it?” Derek huffs, and storms away, leaving Stiles feeling like ten kinds of shit and not being entirely sure why, hanging his head against the interested gazes of the passers-by who have stopped to gawk. 

* * * * * 

“You really fucked up, Stiles,” Jackson is actually trying to make Stiles feel better, even though it wouldn’t be immediately apparent to anyone else. Unlike with Derek, Stiles’ tentative foray into a friendship with Jackson is going well. Derek’s advice: to treat him like everyone else, had worked well, and Stiles knows, by the way Jackson’s face lights up when he sees him, that he got through to the sullen man quickly. However, if anything, Jackson being friends with him only means he lets his guard down even further, and is more acerbic than ever. But at least it has the benefit that he knows Jackson truly cares about his wellbeing. If only _this_ wasn’t the way he shows it.

“Derek is pissed. I heard him talking to Danny about re-writing the scenes so it’s someone else that gets kidnapped, and you’re not even in the scene.”  
“Hey, it’s not all bad. It could be you. You’d like the extra screen time.” Stiles’ head is still spinning, so he doesn’t work out how that might sound until after the words are out, but the way Jackson jumps up with a scowl soon tells him.  
“I don’t want you injured just to get more screen time. How much of a bastard do you think I am? I’m not some pathetic weed who needs to be saved all the time.” Stiles really hadn’t meant to imply anything like that, but he’s feeling too weak to justify his words, and just watches dumbly as Jackson kicks over a lighting stand, showers of glass bursting from the end.  
“Jackson!” Peter’s voice is a growl, and Jackson immediately freezes, his eyes darting between the damage and Peter’s angry expression.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You will be. I’ve had enough of you acting out like a child. Go to my office and wait for me there.” To Stiles’ surprise, Jackson doesn’t say another thing, just shuffles off down the corridor.  
“It’s not his fault,” Stiles isn’t sure why he feels the need to defend Jackson, but he does. “Don’t fire him.”  
“I won’t do that. But it’s lucky it was you. His outburst would have been ten times worse with anyone else, and I can’t have that. He needs to learn consequences.” Stiles doesn’t know what they’ll be, but he trusts Peter, somehow, and is just glad that he actually seems to want to help Jackson, because Stiles suspects too many people in his life have just wanted to take from him.

He barely even notices Peter disappearing after Jackson, because Derek is in his line of sight, and suddenly everything else doesn’t seem important. He looks sheepish as he crouches down next to Stiles, resting his hand on the couch, close to Stiles’, which might just be trembling.  
“I’m sorry,” it’s obvious Derek doesn’t find it easy to say, and Stiles wonders if Chris has had words with him to force it out. “I shouldn’t have lost it with you like that.”  
“Why did you, then?”  
“I was worried. I know,” Derek puts his hand up in defense – Stiles’ thoughts on that excuse clear in his face. “It isn’t a good reason. But this whole thing is stressful, though Peter only needs one or two more investors and the movie’s a go, so it’s easing off.”  
“So you were worried me getting injured would jeopardize the movie?” Stiles does try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but knows he isn’t fully successful. He isn’t expecting Derek’s response.  
“I have nightmares. About letting people close. I worry they’ll disappear on me. It’s dumb, but when I got scared over you, it was easier to pretend I was angry than face the fact I was scared.”  
“What started that?”  
“My first girlfriend killed herself.” Stiles gasps at the sudden revelation, but recognizes that Derek is still trying to protect himself. “I know now it wasn’t my fault, but it’s taken a long time to get there, and it didn’t help that working that out meant what I felt about her leaving me was raised. And I know that’s not fair. It wasn’t me she was leaving. But knowing that and feeling it aren’t always the same thing.”

Stiles takes a breath. The realization that their friendship isn’t as fragile as he’d been thinking – with Derek’s recent bad humor – helps him see that the revelation is painful; Stiles can almost sense the agony it causes him, and maybe he can offer something back.  
“I do too. Get nightmares. Since I was a kid. Since my mom died.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It was a long time ago. But it took me a long time to even be mainly okay, and I still have issues. Same as you, I guess. That letting people close will only let them leave me.”  
“We’re a mess, aren’t we?”  
“Seems that way.”

* * * * * 

The honesty that they’d shared that day had impacted their friendship in the best kind of way. It always remains unspoken, but the acknowledgement that they’d both suffered loss, and that it still impacts them now, when everything else in their lives seems idyllic to anyone looking in, comes with the clear agreement that they will never do that to each other. 

Peter announces that they finally have the funding they need to make their movie, and he’s already looking for new funding to get a second season after that, though whether that’s successful is likely to be dependent on how the movie is received by the fans, who are already wary about them going to the big screen. The cast and crew are feeling the pressure, but it’s tempered by euphoria that they’re at least having the opportunity to show what they can do, and Peter suggests they go on a camping and hiking expedition – not as strange an idea as it sounds, as they’re also scouting for sites.

Stiles is horrified, until Peter admits tents aren’t really his thing either, and he’s found a stunning camping area that has log cabins, and he’s hired the entire site for everyone involved on the movie.  
“It’s a great space,” he announces, grinning wildly, and Stiles is immediately suspicious, as Peter just _does not_ do ‘grinning’, unless he has something up his sleeve. “I really think it could be a good site for the scenes where you’re all hunting down the killer. Plus, bonus is that these cabins look rustic from the outside, but they’re luxurious inside. There’s even hot tubs on the back porches of some of them. Very secluded.”

Peter hands out room allocations, as there are eight cabins, but forty people going.  
“Uh, Peter,” Stiles looks at the list, noting that he’s apparently sharing a cabin with Scott, Derek, Erica, Boyd and Kira. “How many bedrooms do these cabins have?” It’s common knowledge that Erica and Boyd have been passionately involved since about the third episode – as Erica is not a secret-keeper, especially when it comes to her desires. So Peter can’t think Erica will share with Kira. Besides, everyone knows Scott and Kira have been heavily flirting around each other, as is Scott’s way – easily obsessed and a hopeless romantic.  
“Some have only one, and people will have to bunk up, but there are plenty of camp beds and sleeping bags. Yours is the biggest though, because I know what actors are like, and the crew won’t want to be woken at sunrise for kale smoothies and runs.” Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, that’s curtailed when Peter continues. “Yours has two.” Stiles doesn’t know how to react to that. He’ll sound entitled now, having been told the crew will be far more restricted. He can’t even mention the Erica/Boyd thing (and therefore, where’s Kira sleeping?) when their relationship is commonly known, but not discussed. Maybe Peter’s assuming he and Scott will share, but surely he isn’t assuming Derek and Kira will? He’s too distracted with these thoughts to say anything at all, in the end, including to question why Jackson alone seems to have been placed with Chris and Peter. 

“Why aren’t you coming, Alan?” he asks the straight-faced man.  
“It’s not my scene.” Heck, Stiles didn’t even know just bowing out was an option, maybe- “and I have a long-standing vacation with my sister planned for the same weekend, I’m afraid. I’ve already shown Peter my airline tickets, booked several months ago.” Oh. 

* * * * *

Stiles almost forgets his concerns when they arrive at the campground. There’s a huge open area in the middle, with a fire pit dead center, surrounded by long benches carved out of fallen trees, surrounded on all sides by the cabins. He’s seen the pictures, but they don’t do the spot justice, which already looks movie-ready, the surrounding forest just the right level of beautiful and ominous. It’s going to be a great location for campfire ghost stories tonight too. 

“So, how are we doing this?” Scott asks, his eyes flitting to Kira and back to Stiles.  
“I’m staying with Boyd,” Erica announces, pulling the tall man by the front of his shirt towards one of the bedrooms as he carries both their bags with, seemingly, no effort. Derek catches the slightly pathetic puppy dog look Scott’s giving and just huffs, dropping his own bag in the corner of the open living and kitchen space.  
“I’ll take the pull out.”  
“But it’s a double.”  
“I don’t think there are any spare camp cots in this building,” Kira says, sounding a little nervous, though Stiles knows it’s only because she _really_ wants to share with Scott but doesn’t want to have to say it. Tempting as it is to let the awkwardness extend (and it’s very tempting, remembering that Scott dropped him from their most recent arranged plans in order to go running to Kira because she’d suggested she was bored), Stiles decides to be magnanimous.  
“Fine. I’ll share the pull out with Derek. Go, before I change my mind.” Scott and Kira are blushing, but it doesn’t stop them from speeding off to find the second bedroom. 

Stiles pulls a plaid shirt from his bag, as Peter has ordained a hike as the first bonding mission.  
“You’re too nice, you know?” He glances over to Derek, surprised, but knowing exactly what he’s referring to.  
“Scott and I have been best friends forever. It might look like he isn’t always there for me, but he is. He was a bit of a weedy geek in high school, though, and he still hasn’t got used to the fact that he’s incredibly cute, so he really goes all in when a girl shows she’s attracted to him. I swear he holds the world speed record for falling in love.”  
“You think Scott is cute?” Shit. That hadn’t been the part of his sentence he expected to get called on.  
“Uh, not like that. Scott isn’t- I mean…no. It just used to be the pair of us against the world, and he doesn’t need that anymore.”  
“Neither do you, surely? You must have girls throwing themselves at you.”  
“Huh. Not so much.” Obviously, Stiles isn’t about to admit he’d rather girls _didn’t_ , but regardless, he knows he’s an acquired taste. “People generally just want to be friends with me, anyway.”  
“Well, I can believe that, too. Uh, aren’t you and Lydia…?” Stiles laughs, and then realizes Derek’s being serious.  
“Oh. No. Lyd’s great, and I really admire her. But, just no.” He blushes, staring at his feet, but thankfully Derek lets it go.

Peter isn’t kidding about when it comes to hiking. He makes the entire group travel five miles across rough sloping ground and Stiles is thankful, for literally the first time, that Lydia insists on an extensive cardio program for him. It means the walk doesn’t leave him out of breath (unlike poor Scott, but Kira is sticking by his side, so Stiles lets himself not feel bad that he keeps to the front of the group), though, by the time forty cast and crew, looking a little sunburnt and windswept, burst fully out of the woods onto the high bluff overlooking many more miles of unbroken forest and wilderness, his muscles are definitely complaining. He looks with envy at Isaac and Jackson, who are chasing each other around, giggling like a pair of pups – nothing wrong with their muscles – and at Derek, who leans casually against a tree, looking for all the world like a GQ model (but then Stiles reminds himself Derek _has_ modelled for GQ, so, duh, and everything).  
“What now?” he asks Peter.  
“Now, we turn around and walk back to camp. A good fire in the pit should keep the worst of the wildlife away.”  
“What?!”  
“As long as we get back there before dusk, anyway.” God, Peter can be a dick sometimes. Stiles isn’t entirely sure why he likes him so much, although he suspects it has something to do with Peter’s snarky sense of humor, and the fact that, underneath it all, he’s like a giggling schoolboy and really very joyful. 

To Stiles’ immense relief, they get back to the camp with some time to spare before dusk. He has no idea what kind of wildlife might be in these woods, but he certainly doesn’t plan on encountering any. 

He already knows that the crew could drink a boatload of sailors under the table, from infrequent club nights and birthday parties, and they aren’t holding back tonight, despite being in the middle of nowhere. There also seems to be some kind of ‘what happens while camping stays at camping’ mindset going on, with several couples disappearing, snickering, as the evening draws on. When Scott and Kira vanish, it’s pretty late, but now Stiles feels like he can’t go to the cabin for a while.  
“You okay, buddy?” Derek is a little drunk and wraps a long arm over Stiles’ narrow shoulders as he sits close on the fallen log.  
“Yeah. Don’t want any more beer though. Peter has plans for the morning, and I know he’ll make it harder on purpose if I’m hungover.”  
“Yeah,” Derek barks out a laugh, “he can be a real jerk sometimes. But I don’t think you have to worry about him. I saw him heading to his cabin with a bottle of whiskey. And Chris.”  
“So they’re…?”  
“Yup. For years. I don’t even know how many. And, before you ask, I’ve no idea why they don’t go public. But Jackson went too, so this time it’s probably just drinking.” Stiles has his own thoughts about that, but he’s not going to say anything without proof. Besides, what a trio of consenting adults get up to in their own time is nothing to do with him, or anyone else. “Why don’t you go to bed if you’re over this?”  
“Scott.” Derek huffs at that. “Anyway, this is fun, even if I’ve eaten so many smores I feel sick. Danny’s a great storyteller.” Danny has regaled the group with several tales – not all of them campfire horrors, but enough that the woods are looking more and more menacing. Stiles doesn’t know Danny well; he does come to set again now, getting over his grump about the casting quickly when he saw the final core group in action, but he’s usually curled up in a giant armchair, that Peter brought in especially at Danny’s request, writing. He doesn’t seem like the disturbable type, even if he always has a smile if you catch him between pages. 

“Hot tub then?” Derek bounces up, only slightly unsteady, and holds a hand out for Stiles, who takes it with a shrug.  
“I don’t have any trunks,” he admits as they walk around the cabin on the verandah.  
“Me either.”  
“So, uh, what will we wear?”  
“Duh. Our skin.” Christ, Derek must be drunker than he seems, though Stiles flushes, thankful for the near pitch darkness here, away from the fire, at the thought of Derek skinny-tubbing. But he won’t be a skeeve, and resolutely looks at the boring trunk of a large tree while Derek strips, whistling, and jumps into the bubbling tub with a splash.

“Come on in!”  
“Sure. Turn around, dude.” Derek huffs, muttering ‘dude’ sarcastically, not quite under his breath because of the beer, but he does avert his eyes while Stiles strips and slides smoothly into the water. 

Stiles gets over his embarrassment quickly, because the hot water feels amazing, and Derek is particularly amusing when he’s had a few. At one point he stops talking and makes overblown shushing gestures. When they listen hard they can hear splashing from elsewhere, and low voices, followed by even lower moans.  
“We’re not the only ones with great ideas,” he whispers, giggling like a kid, and Stiles finds it ridiculously endearing.  
“I should get you drunk more often,” he says.  
“Why?” Derek is suddenly serious, leaning in close.  
“Oh. It’s just you’re never this relaxed normally. Always strict and grouchy.”  
“Oh. Okay,” Derek leans back, and Stiles feels like he said something wrong.  
“I like it.”  
“Yeah, well, alcohol makes all the problems go away.” Stiles wants to right whatever just went wrong, but Derek decides he’s had enough and gets out, Stiles only just managing to look away (and, okay, maybe not just in time, and perhaps he just inadvertently got a sight that would be haunting his dreams for a while, in the best kind of way).

By the time Stiles has dried off and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt, Derek is already in bed, curled up along the edge, and Stiles slips under the thin blanket to lay on the other side, mentally kicking himself for ruining Derek’s happiness.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, and when he wakes, far too early, he’s on his side, with Derek pressed against his back. Slightly shamefacedly he doesn’t move, closing his eyes again and basking in the warmth, and when they do finally awake, properly, Derek has an arm wrapped around Stiles, and there is weirdly no weirdness (and yes, Stiles spends far too long trying to work out how that can be) and Stiles realizes it’s the first night in a long time he didn’t even get the hint of a nightmare.

* * * * *  
* * * * * 

“When did you know?” For some reason, Stiles is in an analytical mood. They’re curled up on the couch in Scott’s ‘apartment’, which really annoys Peter, especially when people eat and drink on it, but Stiles is, usually, careful with his coffee, which he sips now, and there’s really hardly any stains on it, especially considering it’s several years old now.  
“Know what?” Derek curls an arm around Stiles’ middle, holding him firmly closer.  
“That you were into me, of course.”  
“Don’t know.” Stiles tries to twist indignantly but Derek’s grip is too tight. “Well, how about you?”  
“That’s easy. When you were in Midnight Dove. Fuck, you were hot in that one.”  
“Wow, way to objectify,” but Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ neck. “Well, if that’s what you mean, it was the first day you came to set. One look at that long neck and I just wanted to bite up the whole length, marking up that pale skin.”  
“Christ, Derek,” Stiles shifts, trying to ease the tension in his pants. “And I guess I didn’t mean like that. I mean, that you wanted more than friendship.” 

Derek takes too long to answer, and Stiles starts to worry (ridiculously, he knows); scenarios of Derek announcing Stiles has misread everything running through his overactive mind like miniature car crashes.  
“Mine was the camping trip,” he babbles, to say something. It isn’t strictly the first time he’d realized he liked Derek as more than a friend, or a work colleague, but it had been the first time his fantasies had picked up, because he’d allowed them to include that Derek liked to touch him and hug him – and the first time their actual friendship, which now underpins everything that makes them _them_ , had properly shown development.  
“Mine was that time you got concussion on set. It made me realize that I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t in my life. And then I kept fucking it up by being my usual miserable self.”  
“You got past it, at least,” Stiles opines, with a knowingly cheeky wink, that’s interrupted by Derek swearing at him and tickling his middle.  
“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasps, as a new coffee stain is added to the couch, just as Peter strides over.

“Reading table. Come.” By the time they’ve sauntered over, most of the other cast is seated, and the crew is standing around.  
“I know we’re already busy,” Chris announces – and they are, filming the third season already, with breaks built into the timeline because Stiles, Derek, and Jackson all have filming elsewhere starting soon. “But Peter has some news.”  
“Thank you, Chris. I do. Most of you are aware that Danny and Derek, and the rest of the writing team, have drafted a script for another feature length shoot. And I’m pleased to announce that we have, today, received confirmation that we have the funding to go ahead, as soon as season three is wrapped.” There are cheers all round, and Stiles feels delight for his friends. This business is a tough one, he has no illusions, and he keeps his thoughts to himself, always knowing that he doesn’t expect it to be something he keeps doing forever. Most of them seem to have no kind of fall back position, so knowing they’ll still be employed at the end of season three is a huge weight lifted, and he’s happy for them.

“Part of the setting for the film is the coast. In celebration, and for location scouting, I have hired a house in Malibu for everyone to spend the weekend in.” Stiles is excited, especially after having a reminder of the last time they did that, in the forest. His excitement is tempered though, by Peter’s next words. “We have already cast the main antagonist, and he’ll be played by Theo Raeken.”  
“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me, Peter? I don’t want that little rat on my set.” Chris is seriously pissed. He isn’t the shouty, make the talent and crew cry, type of director, and the only time Stiles has ever seen him lose it was the first day they met – when Chris found out Theo had walked out on the job. But he looks close to doing it now, veins popping in his neck, and Jackson puts a hand on his arm to calm him.  
“Hear me out, Chris. I know exactly how you feel, but he’s good. And he’s a big name after the Michael Bay movie, but he’s already getting typecast, and he wants a chance to show he can do more than be the sleazy action sidekick. He approached me and was practically foaming at the mouth at the chance to play the villain. I had him screentest, and he’s perfect for the role the boys have written. Plus, he’s already signed a contract that is watertight in our favor. He can’t walk out again, and he’s doing it for way below his current market value.” Chris definitely doesn’t look convinced, and Stiles is suddenly determined not to be caught in whatever shit’s going to go down when everyone goes to the beach house. Plus, there’s the fact that Raeken already has a major reputation as being a total douche to work with, and Stiles knows he’s going to have some choice snideyness about Stiles playing the role that was originally his.

“You have to get us out of this,” he whispers to Derek out of the side of his mouth.  
“It’s done, baby.” Stiles has no idea how Derek will do it, but he trusts him to make it so, and relaxes, letting Peter’s description of the events he knows he won’t have to partake in wash over him.

* * * * *

Stiles has been to Derek’s penthouse a few times, when they were only friends, but it looks different to him now, with a wash of romance in his mind. Derek has moved the smallish table (well, it only seats six, when the space could easily accommodate a medieval banquet table) close to the huge glass wall that dominates the living space, so, with the low light inside, they can see the sparkling lights of the city. The entire space is almost minimalist – Stiles knows that Derek isn’t much for collecting ‘things’, and every decorative piece in it has personal meaning to him – but manages to be warm and comfortable with the judicious use of texture and fabric.

Stiles is almost trembling with nerves, knowing exactly what their plan is for the evening – well, maybe not _exactly_ , but they both know what the end game is – and he keeps having to remind himself that Derek will look after him, in every way that counts. Derek brings perfect rare steak with a side of bright rainbow salad, and Stiles adores him just a little more for not trying to impress him with false extravagance. He doesn’t want to be drunk for this, but he gladly accepts a glass of red, and does his best not to guzzle. 

When they’re halfway through their meal, Derek puts his fork down and takes Stiles’ hand.  
“We don’t have to do this, you know?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Just that you’re almost shaking, and I want you to know I will wait, for as long as it takes for you to be ready.”  
“You’ve already waited almost three months,” and Stiles is a little embarrassed it’s taken them this long – a matter that he knows is down to him. They’ve been getting progressively more intimate, particularly after their night in the hotel, but he’s always pulled back from the final step.  
“The time it takes means nothing to me Stiles. Your happiness means everything. I love you, and that’s all I need.”

Stiles doesn’t want to look shocked. Derek said it so casually, as if it’s obvious. Maybe he thinks he’s said it before, though Stiles knows he hasn’t. He didn’t miss it in a longer conversation – he can tell because of the way it makes his already fast heartbeat stutter. He uses their linked hands to pull Derek to his feet, and yank him closer to smash their lips together; a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue clashing than smoothly romantic, but it doesn’t matter when Derek responds in kind, as if Stiles’ reaction gave him a green light.

They manage to calm down enough to make it to Derek’s bedroom, almost as monochromatic as the rest of his home, but just as perfect for him.  
“Clothes,” Stiles mumbles in between meetings of lips and tongue that have become less frantic but deeper, and they manage to remove shirts while barely breaking their connection, only taking a pause long enough to slip off pants and underwear, leaving them puddled on the hardwood floor so they can resume their passion. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth as his lower lip gets sucked and nibbled, Derek’s large hands roaming gently over his torso. He feels electric, goosebumps rising everywhere Derek touches.  
“Slow down, baby, I want to see you,” Derek pleads as they break for breath, but Stiles falls onto his neck, nipping and sucking down to his collarbone. Stiles lifts his head and gazes into Derek’s clear green eyes.  
“Nope. I want all of you, right now. Slow is for next time, and as many times as you want after this one. Unless-,” Stiles realizes he might be being too demanding. He wants Derek to be as into this as he is, not push him into something he doesn’t want. But the growl Derek gives as he dives back onto Stiles’ mouth suggests he’s fully behind the idea. They’re grinding against each other, and Stiles can feel Derek’s hard length, burning hot against his own, giving him a moment of thinking maybe he would like to pause, just so he can take a proper look at the man who is now his, but that thought flies away when Derek wraps his hand around them, squeezing that heat more firmly against him, and Stiles whimpers urgently, needing everything _right this very minute_.

Derek responds instantly, gently pushing Stiles onto the bed, on his stomach. Stiles hears a drawer move, and then he has one long, slick finger inside him and Derek’s mouth sucking a bruise into his shoulder.  
“Fuck, the noises you make,” Derek grinds his cock against the back of Stiles’ thigh as he works his finger, and Stiles can feel the length and weight of it, solid, and a little intimidating, but he knows Derek will be good to him, so he lets himself feel the pleasure as Derek brushes against the point inside him that makes him see stars. They’ve been just this far before, when Derek was wringing Stiles’ pleasure out of him with that finger, and a mouth wrapped around his dick, but this time he wants more, and he begs for it, lost in the feeling and free from self-consciousness, until Derek works another finger inside him, his mouth now resting against the smooth skin of his ass.  
“God, I’d like to taste you-,” Derek sounds in awe, and Stiles shivers at the promise his voice holds.  
“Next time, Der, promise. Please, one more finger. Make me ready for you. Open me up.”  
“Such a dirty little mouth you’ve got,’ Derek murmurs, pulling out minutely so he can slip a third finger inside, twisting them against Stiles’ tight walls. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I can’t wait to make you babble and lose control. Switch that clever brain off until you can’t think of anything but the way I make you feel.”  
“Already off. Need you, Der, please, inside me, now.” Derek’s chuckle is rough but his movements are smooth and eager as he shifts behind Stiles and, finally, Stiles can feel the pressure, and wills his body to relax. He hisses at the first burning stretch – there’s no doubt Derek’s cock is considerably larger than his fingers – but Stiles is at such a peak of arousal he ignores the discomfort beyond shifting slightly to accept it.  
“You okay, baby?” Derek whispers, hot breath tickling the sensitive hairs on his ear, holding still while Stiles’ internal muscles squeeze down.  
“Ungh huh, one second.” 

Derek holds himself absolutely even, waiting, allowing Stiles to wriggle his way to comfort. The moment of relief, when his muscles finally relax, is so perfect Stiles lets out a low moan of pleasure and throws his head down, arching his back in a way that makes Derek growl again and, Christ, Stiles loves that sound: his new favorite noise. He knows Derek is going to make him fall apart – and soon – and he’s determined to do the same for him; immense confidence in knowing this ideal specimen – in every sense – wants him, derives pleasure from his body (and his mind too, which is still something of a novelty for overactive, erratic Stiles, and it makes him feel even more for Derek than he ever thought possible) making him work even harder to achieve it. Keeping the arch but lifting his head gets yet another growl, and when Stiles starts to grind his hips back, Derek swears and grabs his hips, guiding the movement so they’re meeting hard and fast in a maelstrom of pleasure, until Stiles lets go, crumbling beneath Derek with nothing more than a moment’s warning, his clenching muscles as he cries out his release pulling Derek’s own from him with a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

They collapse, Derek deftly rolling Stiles away from the wet patch and tossing the discarded condom into the metal bin in one effortless move, before pulling Stiles tightly to his chest.  
“Fuck,” he gasps after a moment.  
“Yeah?”  
“How do you feel?”  
“Incredible. I love endorphins.”  
“You’ll be sore tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, but I want you to fuck me through it again tomorrow.”  
“Stiles!” Derek sounds hilariously taken aback.  
“I love you, every bruise is worth it.” Derek huffs at that and nuzzles Stiles’ neck.  
“I love you too.” Stiles hears it in the distance as he slides into sleep, a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So excited about the big story, that is coming soon (I may do a little separate Jackson one shot - that will be PW/OP - first).  
> I'm leaving this one open in case I decide to add to it down the line


	5. Breathe Out So I Can Breathe You In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see the beginning from Jackson's pov, read the last chapter of 'Hold Your Mistake Up'
> 
> Really enjoyed writing this 😊

Stiles got beaten up today. Well, not actually beaten, but Isaac had to apply layers of intricate make up on his shoulder and cheek in vivid purples and reds, and now he’s carefully removing the layers with soaked cotton balls, Stiles jellified in the comfortable salon chair, wincing when he passes over the one real bruise from a too-close punch off a stuntman.

“Come to the club with me.” Jackson’s leaning against the doorway, looking casually hot, as usual.  
“Bit early.”  
“Come on. Derek’s away isn’t he?”  
“Yeah. Gets in about eleven.”  
“So you have time to kill. Entertain me.”  
“Where are Chris and Peter?” Even though there’s never been any kind of big announcement, everyone knows Jackson is in a ménage a trois or something with the director and producer and has been for a couple of years now. Stiles probably knows more than most – Jackson talks about them in a casual way with him and Derek – but he doesn’t have details, and he’s always been intrigued about how it works.   
“Peter’s away; some investor shindig. Chris is going over the rushes, he won’t be home till really late. Please, Sti, I don’t feel like being bored on my own tonight.”  
“When do you ever?”  
“Fuck you, I’m not needy.” Same old Jackson. “Would you like to come, Isaac?” Isaac goes pink. He still gets totally star struck around Jackson, even after all this time. Stiles thinks it’s cute.  
“Uh, I’d love to, but Cora, Lyd and I are having a girls’ night.” Jackson doesn’t say anything, which surprises Stiles a bit, because even if he’s a lot more chilled than he used to be he can still be pretty cutting.   
“Next time, buddy,” Jackson does a weird aborted pat on Isaac’s shoulder, which makes Isaac flinch. Eugh, too painful, with these two socially awkward friends of his.

“Sure, Jacks, I’ll come out with you.”

That cheers Jackson up, and luckily Alison couldn’t give a fuck if Stiles steals some of Tyler’s wardrobe, so he even manages to look half decent when they make it to their favorite bar (Stiles was right, of course, it’s way too early for the club). They settle into a booth with a couple of beers and start the process of getting wasted.

They’re a few in when a man approaches; tall, dark, and douchey.   
“Can I buy you a drink?” He completely ignores Stiles, but that’s okay; he’s an acquired taste and Jackson isn’t: he’s definitely everyone’s type – golden-skinned and gorgeous will do that. Besides Stiles can use the distraction to message Derek, who’s waiting for a plane that will bring him back home.  
 _\- In the bar with J. Miss you.  
\- Miss you too baby. Will be home in three hours. You be there?  
\- Should be. J seems off tho. Ego. Will text if change._

Stiles hopes there won’t be anything delaying him getting to Derek’s, but Jackson is definitely skirting around something, so he tries to push it along, when Jackson has got rid of the douche with extreme prejudice.  
“Why did you want to come out? What’s going on?”  
“Whoa, Sti, way to get to the point.”  
“You’ve met me, yeah? Anyway, everything good with Peter and Chris?”  
“Really good. Really, really good.”  
Stiles sees an opportunity. “So, how does it work with you guys? Do you, like, take it in turns?”  
“After some pervy info there?”  
“Maybe. I’ve been wondering. You’re a lot calmer ever since you got together with them.” Though Stiles still doesn’t know exactly when that was, he does know that Jackson started to relax a lot around the time they filmed the first movie.  
“They, uh, ground me, I guess.” Jackson gets a cheeky sparkle in his eye and leans in. “The regular spankings help, too.”

Stiles almost spits his beer across the table.  
“What?!”  
“Come on, that’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”  
“I didn’t think it was like that!” His cheeks are flushed, but it isn’t entirely embarrassment. “How does that work, then?”  
“Listen, I’ve been thinking about telling you for a while, but I was worried you’d freak out. So…do me a favor and _don’t_ , alright?” Stiles thinks for a minute. He knows he’s probably Jackson’s closest friend, and, even if Jackson would deny it with a gun to his head, Stiles knows it’s hard for him to be this open. If he’s decided to trust Stiles, Stiles won’t ruin it.  
“Won’t get weird, promise.”  
“About that, I wouldn’t promise something you can’t follow through on.” Jackson’s back to looking his usual smug self, but there’s an edge to it that has Stiles a little concerned for his friend.

“Do they treat you well?”  
“Huh? Oh! I see. Yes. Any corporal punishment is entirely consensual. Or mainly, anyway. Uh…I guess it’s more complicated than I remember, to someone not in the lifestyle. Okay, full disclosure. I haven’t gotten into trouble in a while.”  
“Trouble? With the cops?” This isn’t where Stiles was expecting the conversation to go-  
“Not exactly, we have a willing power exchange. We all have rules to follow. Peter and Chris are in charge, on the face of it, but I like it. Actually, one of my favorite things is playing them off each other and getting into trouble, because Chris likes it when I’m well-behaved, and Peter loves it when I’m bratty. But Peter’s been working so hard lately, all meetings and being away from home. And it’s no fun getting on the wrong side of Chris when it’s just the two of us, because I enjoy being good for him.” Although Jackson’s voice is fairly quiet, and got even quieter at that last admission, Stiles is impressed with how honest he’s being. Though, he supposes Jackson has had a good two years, at least, to think of ways to reveal this side of himself. “And I’m kinda missing the way Chris punishes me. He’s very good at it.”

“So, you _like_ being punished? Aaaand you dragged me out tonight without mentioning anything to Chris, right? And I’m guessing one of your rules is telling him where you’re going?”  
“You catch on quick, Sti. I actually have to ask both of them for permission, though they would never say no without a good reason, but don’t worry, I messaged Chris as soon as we got here. I want a fun punishment, not to be locked in a cock cage for a week.”  
“They would do that?!” Stiles is vaguely horrified at the prospect.  
“Chris would, if I let him worry by not communicating. And that isn’t what I’m aiming for, so I don’t want to push him too far.”  
“So, your sexy top-,”  
“Dom. They’re my Doms.”  
“Oh, okay. So, your sexy Dom hasn’t been punishing you enough lately and you’re feeling a bit strung out because of it, and you want him to spank your ass to bring you back in line, and breaking a rule is a good way to make that happen.”

Jackson gives him a funny look, but sue him, it’s not like Stiles actually knows how things work with a Dom. Derek is incredible in every way Stiles needs, but there isn’t anything like that between them.  
“Something like that, Sti. Something like that.”

“So do you have to run off now? Keep your Dom happy?” Stiles feels like he’s broken a seal now, and he wants everything that’s in the jar. He has always been a whore for knowledge though, even when it’s knowledge that has no impact on him personally, like this, obviously.  
“No. Si- Chris said I just have to be home by midnight.”  
“Excellent, Cinderella. Tell me more then.”  
“Really? I don’t want to freak you out.” Stiles side-eyes Jackson’s obvious judgement. “C’mon, Sti, you’re about as vanilla as it’s possible to be.”  
“That’s not true!” But it is. Except, what Jackson doesn’t know is, that Stiles has a little fire burning about this, that was lit a few weeks ago when Derek pinned Stiles’ wrists above his head while he was pounding into him; and Stiles had come instantly (too soon really, he’d been bereft that he hadn’t really got to enjoy the eye-opening experience for more than a minute before he was wriggling in overstimulation). Derek doesn’t know about the fire either, because Stiles cringes every time he even thinks about discussing it – and yes, this is Stiles of the ‘no filter’, but this topic has a filter all of its very own.

“Weren’t you just as vanilla as me, anyway, when you started this?”  
“Sti, no one is as vanilla as you.” Jackson is only kidding, the beers making him extra careless, and he can’t even see the hurt that crosses Stiles’ face, because he’s gotten too good at hiding reactions like that.  
“I’ve read stuff. How far do you take it? Do they take you to clubs where everyone wears leather and you crawl around on the floor with a collar on?” He’s intending to shock, but gulps when Jackson just shrugs.  
“They have membership for a club, but we’ve only been a few times together. Peter is a bit of an exhibitionist and he sometimes takes part in something, but Chris and I just watch. And I don’t wear a collar, though I do have some nice cuffs, which clip very nicely to the St Andrew’s cross in our bedroom.”

Okay. It’s possible Stiles has bitten off more than he can chew here. He does _not_ like the idea of watching Derek with someone else, and actual furniture sounds…a lot. How do they hide it when guests come around?

It takes him a minute, but he realizes Jackson’s smirking at him.  
“Are you mocking me?”  
“No. It’s all true. But I’m guessing you were hoping for some slightly less intense information.”  
“Maybe.”  
“You interested? Want to call Derek Sir? Or maybe have him say it to you?” Stiles lets his thoughts on that be known with a shudder. “Okay, so just wanting him to control you. But I reckon only in the bedroom. I think the way we do it would be too much for you; shouldn’t think you’d want to kneel patiently on the floor keeping his cock warm while he finished his paperwork, or let him make all the final decisions on the roles you take.”  
“You do that?” Stiles would never have thought Jackson would be willing to give up so much freedom.  
“Yes. Happily. It’s a mindset, Sti, and if you don’t have it it can be hard to understand. But even without it a lot of people like to try out a few kinks in the bedroom. You know it doesn’t even have to be about dominance and submission at all, right? That’s just what people think because of what they see on Pornhub, or read in Cosmo or something. Would the idea of being blindfolded suit you better? Or having Derek spank your ass with a paddle while he strokes his fingers through your hair?”  
“Fuck, Jackson, you can’t say shit like that.”  
“I have my answer. C’mon Stilinski, we’re going shopping.”

* * * * *

Stiles was planning on being all ready for Derek when he walks in, but nerves have overtaken him so instead he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the bag of his nightmares (or dreams, really) between his knees as he sucks down another beer for courage.  
“You alright, baby? You look…stressed? How was filming?”  
“Good, yeah, all good.”  
“And how was Jackson?”  
“Good, yeah, all good.”  
“Ooookay. Do you wanna go straight to bed? You look a little strung out, and it’s late.”  
“Jackson told me some stuff.” Maybe if he blurts stuff out it’ll be easier.  
“Yeah?”  
“He said I could tell you, but he’d rather we didn’t tell anyone else.”  
“Okay. I can keep a secret.”  
“Chris and Peter are his Doms, and they get up to a lot of kinky stuff.”  
“We did wonder, didn’t we? Though, I’ll be honest, not sure I want details. Peter is my uncle. He happy though?”  
“It works for him. It’s pretty cool, the trust they have, though he told me he was being a little shit tonight on purpose because he’s looking for a punishment.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles’ heart stutters. It’s like the man can see right into him. He knows he’s gone a hideous shade of puce but he just can’t help it.  
“Oh? He tell you anything more about that?”  
“Yeah. Some. He gets spanked. He says it’s a thing, to push just a little bit, to get a punishment that’s fun.”  
“Sounds like you were interested in what he had to tell you.” Derek sits on the edge of the bed, not right next to Stiles, but close enough, and his voice has gone really low, and growly; his arousal clear. “What do you want me to do with that, baby? You know I’d need you to tell me, if you were feeling any particular way about it.”

Instead of answering, for now, Stiles lifts the bag.  
“He took me shopping.”  
“Shopping?” Stiles thrusts the bag at Derek, staring resolutely at his knees. Derek puts his hand in the bag and brings out glinting silver, Stiles can see out of the corner of his eye, as he sucks in a harsh breath.

“You want me to use these on you Stiles? Pinch your pretty, sensitive nipples with them?” Stiles only whimpers, and lets Derek keep digging. Stiles knows he pulls out a short leather flogger, a soft blindfold and a glossy black glass plug – he picked them out, after all – although his eyes are firmly down now.

When Derek lets out a whimper almost as high-pitched as Stiles’, he does finally glance up, to see Derek clutching a pair of leather cuffs, staring at Stiles as if he’s just hung the moon.  
“You like them?” Stiles asks, shyly.  
“Can I? Do we need a safeword or something?” Stiles had hoped Derek wouldn’t think he’s weird for wanting to try some of this, but he hadn’t really allowed himself to think that Derek might be just as into the idea as he is. But if the eager way Derek is leaning forward, running a pink tongue over his full bottom lip, is anything to go by, he might even be _more_ into this than Stiles.  
“We should discuss it. Uh, I don’t know a lot, but I don’t think I want to play anything too, er, rapey. I don’t want to pretend I don’t want it.”  
“Is that what a safeword is about?” Derek seems a bit shocked, and Stiles thinks it might be a good idea for him to have the same kind of open conversation with Jackson as he had tonight.   
“I think, maybe, but also there’s the time when the, um, submissive one is being pushed outside their comfort one, and the dominant one needs to know if they’re pushing them too far.”  
“You want me to push you?”  
“Hey, who said I’d be the submissive one?” Derek’s eyebrows answer that question better than his words ever could and Stiles chuckles nervously, watching his own knees again.

“So we don’t need a safeword if I just stop if you ask me to?”  
“Yeah. We can start with that.”  
“Do you just want me to take over?” Stiles is still kind of embarrassed about these desires, and he knows that Jackson would probably spank him himself if he knew he was still so reluctant to actually voice his needs (he’d threatened as much in the store they’d visited), but he trusts Derek, more than he’s ever trusted anyone else, so he nods, blushing.

“Okay, baby, let’s get those jeans off then.” Stiles would like Derek to be more demanding, but he knows he won’t be without Stiles letting him know that’s okay with him – and he isn’t there yet – so he stands and allows Derek to undress him, which he does, dropping sweet, hot kisses all over his skin as it’s revealed. 

When he’s naked in front of a still clothed Derek he’s blushing even harder – at the situation, at Derek’s hungry gaze, and what he knows (hopes) is coming – and it isn’t helped by Derek licking his lips.  
“Oh, baby, you look so pretty going all pink for me.” He swings the cuffs off one thick finger. “Have you been bad, then? Thinking of all the sordid things you want me to do to you? Do you need to be punished?” It should be vaguely ridiculous, but instead, Stiles shivers, goosebumps rising across his exposed flesh at the mere promise, nodding rapidly.

Derek manhandles him into position across his lap. Stiles isn’t exactly tall, and he’s still lean, even with the amount he works out now, and he’s always loved the way Derek uses his strength to dominate; even if it wasn’t intentional up until now. This is something else though, and he’s already hard, pressed against Derek’s thick thigh.  
“You love this, don’t you baby?” Derek whispers as he buckles the cuffs onto Stiles’ slender wrists, keeping his hands on the small of his back. Stiles is _so_ aware of his precarious position, balanced comfortably, but entirely at Derek’s mercy, and he moans before he can even think to keep the desperate noise to himself. “How bad have you been, darling? Do you think you can take ten spanks to this perky little ass of yours?” Stiles loves the sing-song mock in Derek’s voice, because he knows it’s all part of the play, and he rubs his cheek against Derek’s knee in approval. He likes Derek talking now, but it feels right for him to stay silent – an unusual state of affairs – an additional level of giving up control. 

When Derek finally lands the first smack, Stiles jumps, even though he’s expecting it. He’d suspected he’d like it, but he isn’t ready for the spark it sends through his body, aided by Derek’s grounding hand on the back of his neck, making him feel so safe. He knows Derek is going easy, those first few; feels the burn begin to spread and wants more. He pants, his face flushed and his eyes closed in pleasure, pushing his hips up the little that he can in this position. Derek goes slightly harder for the next few, and Stiles can feel his hardness pressing against his stomach. He’s pleased Derek likes this too, can hear it even more in the husk of his deep voice when he asks if Stiles can take another five on top. Stiles manages to burble out a weak ‘please’, and Derek hits five more precise swats, over the last ones, and Stiles knows his ass is burning red, but it just adds to the dizzying pleasure he feels.

“You like being under my control, baby?” Derek easily swings Stiles’ body so he’s face down on the bed, his knees tucked so his butt is high, presented for Derek. “Fuck, baby, you look so good. So desperate and leaking for me.” He is – Stiles feels as though he could almost build his body up to orgasm just knowing Derek is staring at him that way, like he wants to devour him. “I could use all these new toys on you, baby, but I’m too greedy. Want you so much.” Stiles whimpers at the admission – not a new one, but still delicious in this context.

He relaxes – this ass-up position strangely comfortable: giving up easy. He can hear Derek moving, gathering something up, and winces when he feels icy liquid running down his crack, against his over-heated skin. He can feel something cold and hard chasing it and knows it’s the glass plug; sort of wishes he could see it, because he did choose it because it was so pretty – a black rose as the handle. He knows it isn’t that big, but it feels massive as Derek presses it against him.  
“Ssh, baby, take it for me. I know you can.” Stiles wants to please Derek and focuses on un-tensing his muscles so he can accept the plug. “Good boy,” and that makes him shudder hard as it slides inside. 

Derek seats it as deep as it will go, twisting it as he keeps up the rhetorical speech – never demanding an answer but constantly letting Stiles know how well he’s doing, while Stiles can only think, of course he is, Derek is single-handedly making all the kinky thoughts he’s had come true, and making it _good_ for Stiles. He wants more though, wants his man covering him, using him more fully. But he can’t ask, because it would ruin the perfect mindset he’s fallen into. He can whimper, though, and wriggle, and moan.  
“So eager, baby. So greedy. Does my hungry boy want more?” Derek slowly draws the plug until it’s at the widest point – almost painful, but in a good way, and there’s another sensation to blow Stiles’ mind. He feels owned, and he likes it – with Derek, who has owned him for a long time; he’s quite capable of facing the truth on that, not least because it makes him happy. Derek starts to fuck him with the plug, until it’s moving without resistance as Derek massages Stiles’ lower back, leaning forward to kiss and nip at the smooth skin of his hips.

“Can’t wait any more, baby.” And all Stiles can think is, thank God – it’s about time – as Derek slides straight in, deep, filling him just right, just like ever, strong fingers grasping narrow hips, pulling Stiles onto him so Derek doesn’t even have to move his own hips, only forces Stiles to take. 

It doesn’t take either of them long to reach their crescendo, almost fully in sync, the teasing having done nearly as much for Derek as it did for Stiles, and as they sink into each other afterward, sticky and sated, arms and legs entangled, back to their normal, vanilla, selves, Stiles can’t help the happy little quiver that runs through him, tipping his head and revealing his neck as Derek whispers love into his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for the main story now, which I'm excited about.
> 
> This had purpose - I like writing BDSM (very) light - and I loved writing Jackson's story in part 3. I want to include quite a lot of Jackson's side in the main story (smut-wise) - so decided to add this *extremely* gentle element of kink to Derek and Stiles' relationship - because I can see it being right for them, and because it makes me happy - so the whole smut-style was along those lines, though Stiles and Derek will remain a very diet version.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write.
> 
> When this section of the series is complete I will be writing a more plot-based story, when Derek and Stiles are an established couple. Feel free to drop any thoughts for that in the comments - I love hearing them.


End file.
